NCIS: Alternate
by sirscreen
Summary: What if Team Gibbs had an extra member in Season 1? AU
1. Yankee White

**I just couldn't keep the damn plot bunnies in.**

**Trev**

I am currently nearing the date when I will have served ten years in the military. Never thought I'd still be alive by this time, but it's true. All ten fingers and toes, too. Both kidneys, though I got within a hairsbreadth of loosing one.

In my illustrious career, I have served with many a fine unit. I did some cross training with the Rangers, deployed with the Special Forces, and, this is actually relevant, served with SEAL Team Six, the maritime equivalent to Delta Force.

While on Six, I did some Red Cell stuff, which means I broke into military and other government installations to see how good their security was. One particularly memorable time we hijacked Air Force One and "assassinated" the President and President-elect. Clinton was not happy with being shot-at point-blank with a Tipman 95 Custom.

How we broke into Air Force One was a slip in their designs. When the plane was built, to keep any one man from having the blue prints, it was built, ground-up, in a completely compartmentalized fashion. In addition to making a lot of headaches, it made one glaring security hole.

The mechanic in charge of designing, building, and installing the load system had the brilliant idea of creating an elevator that could bring food up straight into the President's office. The idea was shelved, but no before the guy had already cut a hole through the fuselage. The Air Force welded the hole shut.

My old AFJROTC Staff Sergeant will never hear about the absolutely shitty job they did. It will break his heart.

A swift hit with a _fist _and the damn thing broke through. They never learn.

Jesus Christ, the freakin' perimeter was so shitty that it was no problem to get through.

I carefully placed the panel back over the hole and sealed it with duct tape. Maybe next time, oh, I don't know, _the Air Force will actually use some reinforcements,_ or better yet,_ weld the damn thing right._

The hole had lead the food storage area. I hid behind a fridge until Gibbs finished doing his thing to get rid of the FBI.

* * *

><p><strong>Kate<strong>

I had to give this Gibbs his due: he was pretty smart, the way he managed to get the FBI off the plane. Wouldn't last, though. I would probably have to hand the body over to the FBI when we landed.

I sat back and watched the junior agent take photo after photo. I heard him mumble something about "Trev" being late.

Which is when I saw possibly the worst person there is to see on Air Force One. I never met him in person, but his name was respected and hated among the Secret Service.

The second our eyes made contact, they widened and he cursed. Guns were drawn almost simultaneously.

"I take it you two have met?" DiNozzo asked dryly, still taking photos.

"DiNozzo, you never told me that _Secret Service was still on the plane!"_ the hated man spat.

"What are you doing here?" I demanded gun still raised.

"I work here," he answered, his weapon also ready, "NCIS."

"You're kidding," I gritted. _Now _I regretted giving over the investigation to Gibbs.

I heard Gibbs coming down the stairs. Out of the corner of my eye, I could see Gibbs take a single glance at us before saying, "I take it you two have met?"

"Nope," the bastard said, as if this was an everyday occurrence, "Jon Trevodur. Call me Trev."

"I know who you are," I replied, "Special Agent Todd."

"First name?" he asked.

"Kate," I wanted so much to glare at Gibbs.

"Full name? I already know a 'Kate' you see," he smiled in a polite way. I continued to glare at him. He sighed and placed his weapon back in the holster, "Gibbs, want me to take statements? Or has Secret Service here already done so?"

At least he didn't call me "Secret Service chick".

* * *

><p><strong>Trev<strong>

I was slightly peeved that she'd only kept the stewards on board, but I did the best with what I had to work with. Which was essentially nothing. The stewards have no idea what was going on. I made a note to demand interviews with the rest of the passengers when I had the chance.

"Hey Secret Service," I said, knowing she was just out side the door, "Here's a tip: next time someone croaks on Air Force one that I _might _have to investigate, please keep everyone, and I do mean _everyone_, on board until I get there."

"How'd you know I was-"

"Your perfume is acacia," I said off-handedly, "Tastefully done, too."

She seemed put off, like she wasn't expecting me to be nice. Well, it was Monday, "Right, I'll just have the President stay grounded."

"Tell him that if he doesn't, I'll tell Laura about the Dunkin Donuts he sneaks," I countered.

"Oh, that's right, your chummy with the President after you _shot _him."

"It was a paintball gun!"

"At point blank range!"

"Hey!" I turned to see Gibbs heading into the bathroom, "Married couple! Get back to work!"

* * *

><p>I listened quietly as Fornell and the other FBI guy talked. Unlike Gibbs and Tony, I actually <em>liked <em>the FBI. A good friend of mine worked there. Most of the time, the working field agents were good guys, if a bit arrogant. It was the senior agents playing office politics that pissed me off.

My phone lit up. I had placed it on silent, "Hm," I answered.

_"We're in the clear, you can get out of the body bag."_

"Okay," I said quietly as Fornell ad the other Agent continued to talk.

_"I got DiNozzo following you. You two are searching Trapp's apartment tonight."_

"Got it," I hung up. Thankfully Fornell hasn't discovered me yet. I took my knife and began to cut through the rubber bag.

Body Bag: $56

Tanto knife: $78

Look on Fornell's face: … Priceless.

* * *

><p>"Hey Abby," I said as I brought in the stuff we brought back from Trapp's apartment, "Find anything on his uniform?"<p>

"Not yet," she said.

"Well, I think I found out how he was poisoned," I said, as I began to set all the evidence bags on the table, "Typical Flight Jockey. Had enough organic crap to open his own health clinic," I began a mental list as to what rare reactions the stuff I found can cause. So far, two with ability to cause a stroke. None so far.

"So what are you gonna do while I find poison in a health snack?" she asked, her usual peppiness gone. Maybe because she was pulled away from a particularly wild party.

"Need any help?" I offered.

"Aren't you gonna sleep?" she asked.

"Nah," in truth, I _couldn't _sleep. I have chronic insomnia.

"You take the uniform, I'll take the health food," she said.

"Got it," I pulled some gloves, but refused her extra lab coat. _Way _to small for me.

* * *

><p><strong>Kate<strong>

"Hello?" I answered groggily into the cell phone. It was three in the morning

_"Hey Secret Service,"_ I mentally cursed, _"Trapp's uniform had DMSO and some unidentified, noncellular biological substance on the inside of it."_

"What?" it was too early for this stuff.

_"Dimethyl Sulfoxide. It's a organosulfur compound that easily absorbs through the skin. It's a good choice for Trapp, only leaves a taste of garlic in the mouth. The biological substance is probably a venom of some kind, our forensic scientist is narrowing it down."_

"Why call me?"

_"I'm still waiting for a full name and I like you more than Fornell. He's a little _too_ arrogant, even for FBI."_

"So, you called me to annoy me?" I growled.

_"No_," yes, _"You protect the President. Fornell protects his own ass. Besides, ya got balls. And I was offering to help you participate in a raid on his dry cleaners."_

Now _that_ was helpful. I rubbed my eyes as I got out of bed, "Where and when?"

_"Drydock Cleaners on 19__th__ st. ASAP. I got the weapons."_

* * *

><p>The raiding party was mostly FBI, with Trev in the lead and on point, with me covering his blind spot. He advocated going in silently, with the building surrounded. I watched as he picked the lock.<p>

"Isn't that illegal?" I hissed.

"Don't you hear that small voice asking for help getting into the store?" he countered, "It's gray."

"You NCIS agents sure are a piece of work."

"I could say the same about you Secret Service types," he said, "I trained under a few in my SEAL Six days."

"Aren't you a Marine?"

"Yep," he said, as the door unlocked, "Cross-training. And in counter-terror, the rules are looser," he spoke into his micro phone, "_Go."_

Instantly the place was filled with the sound of FBI agents breaking open the door shouting "_FBI!_" at the top of their lungs. I swear Trev looked resigned.

* * *

><p>0500, the FBI, NCIS, and Secret Service raided the Drydock Cleaners on 19th Street. At 0839, we captured the owner of the dry cleaners, an Indian guy named Micheal Sangbhudapei, US citizen, born in Pennsylvania. He was at sleeping off a wild night of drinking at a friend's house. By 0900, he was sitting in the NCIS interrogation room. At 1000, he was still sitting there, stewing.<p>

"President grounded?" Gibbs asked. I nodded. Until further notice, and Trev's very open threat of revealing him cheating on his diet to his wife as backup, the President was grounded. And he was bought a brand new suit today at random.

"Aren't you going to interrogate him?" I knew that Gibbs had campaigned hard for him to be interrogated at NCIS. With NCIS's current batting average, he won.

"Nope," shook his head, "Someone more... suited for this is going to do it."

I was about to ask what he meant when Trev entered the interrogation room, "_Al salaam __aleikum,"_ he said, pulling up a chair.

"What am I doing here?" he demanded, his Pennsylvanian accent perfect, "I'm a citizen! I have rights!"

Trev said something in Arabic. The man had an obvious, unconscious understanding. So, he was lying.

"I don't understand," the subject said.

Trev kept talking in what sounded like flawless Arabic.

I asked "Where'd he learn-"

"Don't know," Gibbs said, "Checked his file, most of it is redacted. Most of what wasn't had to do with training."

"Language training?"

"In Italian, French, Spanish, Chinese, Korean, Japanese, and Vietnamese," Gibbs said, "No Arabic in there."

"Jesus," I knew this guy was smart. Just not _eight_ languages smart, "Anything else?"

"Recon School, Scout Sniper School, BUD/S, SQT, Jump School, Combatant Diver School-"

"Okay, I get it, he's a badass," certified badass, "Where'd he work before he came to NCIS?"

"Redacted," Gibbs said, "We do know that he was subjected to a psychological battery. It said 'Fit for non-tactical duty'. And the rest was redacted."

At that point, the subject started crying and babbling in Arabic. In the space of less than four minutes, without even raising his voice, Trev broke him.

* * *

><p>Mohammad Abdul-Jabar was a happy terrorist. At first he was worried that the Infidels had discovered their plan. But, Allah had steered the nonbelievers away, and had given the Faithful a chance to succeed.<p>

He saw that annoying woman-agent watching them closely. It did not matter. She had never noticed that he was not an Infidel like her. He hoped that he would have a chance to kill her so that she would serve him in the next life.

Right on time, one of the other reporters started to convulse. Everyone crowded around him and the doctor was called. In the confusion, Mohammad picked the lock on the armory and retrieved an automatic weapon. He loaded it and hid it under his jacket.

His heart pounded with excitement. He would kill the leader of this Great Satan and become a hero in the eyes of the Faithful.

Which is why he was confused when the senior Secret Service Agent suddenly appeared out of nowhere and pressed his weapon against his temple.

* * *

><p><strong>Kate<strong>

I walked sullenly out on the tarmac of Dulles. I was out of a job, but at least I ended it on my terms.

"I heard you quit," Gibbs said.

"Good news travels fast," I answered.

"You ever pull something like that with me, you won't have to," Gibbs said, running out in front of me and getting into a car driven by a redhead.

"Is that a job offer?"

**PLEASE REVIEW!**


	2. Hung Out to Dry

**To all of those familiar with my OC, I kinda changed his background a little. And there will be a slight crossover with JAG here.**

** Trev**

When I was in JROTC, our Colonel was a self admitted mama's boy ,was madly in love with his wife, and had three daughters. If he _ever_, and I do mean _ever_, found out one of us mistreated a woman, he'd tear us a new asshole in the way only a poor white trash who grew up in Georgia and had two Masters degrees could(What the hell was the Air Force thinkin when they made that man an officer?)

I found myself wondering what he would say to this sorry excuse for a male. I already wanted to beat the shit out of him. Gave folks like me a bad name.

"You light that and I kick your ass," I threatened.

"Bite me," he snarked as he lit up. I took the cigarette and put it out on my arm, smiling evilly as I did so. He paled and shut up.

"So, you were here for some romance with this shithead?" I asked, in a completely conversational tone.

"Ye-ye, yes," she was shivering almost uncontrollably. A lot of it is probably bleed off from adrenaline.

Without a word, I stripped the moron of his jacket and handed it to her. She continued, "Oh my God, my Dad's on duty he doesn't know I took his SUV!"

"Calm down," I said, "Yeah, you're probably gonna be grounded," and given a chastity belt, "But he's probably gonna be so relieved you're okay he'll lighten the punishment."

"How would you know?" she asked.

"So, you wanted to just spend some quality time together, while this loser wanted more physical activities?" I asked, ignoring the question.

"No, we were listening to music, and-"

"And wham, pow blood everywhere!" the moron interrupted.

"Moron, I'm trying to get information from a reliable source, wait your turn," I let the unspoken 'dipshit' hang in the air. Honestly I hated the punk.

"And then we freaked and went out for help," she said.

"We found them a klick down the road on our way to the scene," the MP said.

"Did you hear anything before you left?" I asked, "A moan, cough?"

"Yes, definitely a moan," she answered, "I felt bad leaving him there."

"It's okay. When a body dies, air is still left in his lungs. You just heard the air escaping in the most convenient of places," I explained, reassuring her that she did nothing wrong, "Get all that, Gibbs?" I asked. He'd shown up as I ripped the moron's jacket from him.

"Can I go now?" the moron asked.

"Not until her father get's here," Gibbs said, "I'm sure he'd have a some physical activity with you," lucky bastard. I wanted in, but I figured the father had dibs.

* * *

><p><strong>Kate<strong>

"Hey Boss, look who I found," DiNozzo said, "Mps weren't gonna let her pass."

"I got my SIG and badge, but HQ didn't issue my photo ID yet," I explained. And that's when I noticed the corpse.

The Marine in fatigues seemed to have _speared _ through the roof of the car. What was worse was the fact that he looked pale and sick, yet seemed to be in a deep sleep, like he would wake up any moment but be miserably sick

"Oh my God," I said, "Is this real?"

"Unfortunately, my dear, it is," Ducky replied.

"Put 'em on," Gibbs held out a pair of latex gloves. Of course, Rule #1, Always wear gloves on a crime scene.

"Ah! Your first crime scene with us, Caitlin!" Ducky exclaimed.

"What about Air Force One?" I asked.

"Doesn't count, you were in Secret Service," Ducky replied, "Tony, take a team photo, for posterity."

"Forget posterity," Gibbs ordered, pulling out a white box from a bag, "Sun's gonna be up soon," he handed me the box, "Welcome to NCIS."

I smiled and reached into the box, drawing out a combat boot, "How'd you know my size?"

He just gave me a crooked smile and tilted his head, and put a black ball cap on my head, "Put em' on. Can't work a field in high heels.

"Depends on the kinda work you're doing," DiNozzo commented.

"Your mind, DiNozzo, runs a gammit from X to XXX," I shot back.

* * *

><p><strong>Trev<strong>

The 2nd Force Reconnaissance Company is a 6 Platoon unit with: a headquarters platoon(company commander, XO, JAG officer[never understood _why_ JAG needed to be there] etc.), 2 Direct Action Platoons(what I did when I was in Force Recon), 2 Deep Reconnaissance Platoons, and a Scout Sniper Platoon.

Often is deployed by Parachute. And meanass mothers, everyone of them.

And, unlike Gibbs, I actually _have _the Commandant on speed dial. He hates me, but his wife loves me. She thinks I'm funny.

"All right, DiNozzo, Trev, shoot and sketch. Kate and I will start interrogation," Gibbs instructed.

I scowled. I knew that Secret Service had to start somewhere, but interrogation was _my _thing. Meanwhile, DiNozzo was being his usual self.

"Man, it's gotta be so cool to jump," he said.

"Hey you wanna play paratrooper? Pay a $180 and take a class, like all those other Weekend Warriors," he scoffed.

"Yeah, I have so many weekends free!" DiNozzo shot back. Hey, if you wanna jump so badly, take a weekend off your social life. That's what I use the average one weekend a month the Gibbs begrudgingly gives.

I scoffed. I took my first jump when I was fourteen(Pa took me, Sam, and Maggs as a family bonding exercise. I had fun. I tried to look only straight ahead of me. It didn't help), "DiNozzo, if you wanna jump so bad, I have a friend that can get you full combat gear and shove you out of a Cessna."

"Like that friend who I got into a bar fight with?"

"I would never let Jeffery fly a plane," I wouldn't let the guy drive a _car._ I wonder to this day how he passed his ASVAB.

"Or those fraternal triplets who carjacked me?"

"It could be a compliment, as they took your car and not that slick ride next to it," Bo, Bu, and Ba looked black, hispanic, and Native American, respectively. Their mom liked to gangbang. That screwed-upness has tainted everything they do. And they love every minute of it.

"Or that sniper friend of yours who _forgot where the President lived?"_

"Okay, even I wonder how the hell Deck got into Special Forces," _it's on the tip of my tongue_, was his reply. And no, he wasn't screwing around, "Cav Scouts, I get. Even the Rangers. But Special Forces? Really? How does a guy who's had 4 concussions in High School even get _into_ the military?"

I know cause I gave him his third.

"I thought he was Airborne," DiNozzo said.

"Gotta be jump qualified to be a Ranger, DiNozzo. Not to mention Special Forces."

* * *

><p><strong>Kate<strong>

I couldn't believe it. A guy jumps out of an air plane with an injured collarbone and slows his reaction time with painkillers, and his squadmates knew about it and didn't stop him. I didn't understand why.

"Mission," I looked at Trev, who leaned against Abby's steel evidence table, "Military is mission oriented. Always complete the mission. The mission is everything."

"But that still-"

"It's especially true in 'elite' units," he said, "Like Force Recon. Fuentes didn't want to upset the mission. And besides, many pro athletes play while injured. It's usually only the sportscasters who make a big deal about it."

"Yeah, like catching a ball is _just _as dangerous as jumping out of an airplane."

"You've obviously never pl-"

"Are you two done?" Gibbs growled. I gave a final glare at Trev.

* * *

><p><strong>Trev<strong>

I was not a happy camper. Yeah, I get the need for Secret Service to learn the ropes. But in times past _I _would help Abby in the Forensics Lab. _I _would be the one Gibbs sent to question suspects. But, being the Good Little Marine I am, I gritted my teeth, and pulled every last bit of information on the riggers.

And there was a lot of shit, too. Force Recon is a small group. To make matters better for me, operators often trade stories over beer, and your average operator has a huge repertoire of he-said-she-said. So, I called 2nd Squad. Specifically, I called Gunny Taggard.

"Hey Tag, I got a favor to ask you," I said.

_"Sure, man. What'd ya need?"_

"You ever hear stories about the riggers of the 2nd?"

_"Some. What's this about?"_

"NCIS is investigating a possible homicide."

_"Ah, shit man. I'm no snitch."_

"Hey, cocksucker, I couldn't care less about who-banged-who. I'm looking to catch a shithead that killed a brother Marine, _da?_"

_"Alright, I see ya. Haven't really heard anything much, other than some war stories. The usual, saved-at-the-last-minute-by-luck/skill/training/a whore."_ You would be surprised how much the last one comes up.

"I'll take your word for it. And Tag?"

_"Yeah?"_

"If you break my sister's heart, I break your... _everything._"

_"Shit. You know about that?"_

"Tag," I sighed disparadgingly and hung up the phone.

Of course I knew. She's my freaking _sister._

* * *

><p><strong>Kate<strong>

"Very Electric Kool-Aid, Abby," DiNozzo observed.

"I was thinking more Blue Man Group," she replied.

"Sergeant Fuentes chute wasn't the only one tampered with," I said, indicating the substance on the chutes that lit up under ultra violet light.

"How many?"

"Nine, out of sixteen," I answered, "Logbook signatures show different riggers packed the lot."

"How many did Corporal Dafelmayer pack?"

"Four," I checked my notes, "The rest were packed by Corporal Brinkman and Sergeant Fuentes."

"Corporal Ramsey didn't pack any?" DiNozzo asked.

"No," I said, "When his signature didn't show up on a single parachute I called Captain Fall. He put Corporal Ramsey on a two week rigging suspension for sloppy work. Guess who wrote him up for that?"

"Senior Rigger, Sergeant Fuentes," it's funny how Gibbs's voice almost never really elevates to past a quiet, calm tone.

"We got motive," DiNozzo said.

"We got more than that," Abby said, "Kate and I have a theory."

"How come you didn't warm up to me this quickly?" DiNozzo asked.

"You're like a peircing Tony. It takes a while for the throbbing to stop and the skin to grow back," the most accurate way to describe him I have ever heard.

"More than I wanted to know," DiNozzo said with a smile.

"What's the theory?" Gibbs demanded.

"Every time you lace up your boondockers or cinch your laundry bag, you leave little bits of skin behind. It's the same with the parachute rigging," Abby pulled little bits of skin on the screen, "I pulled skin samples from the deployment bags of the chutes that were messed with."

"Did you get a DNA signature?" Gibbs asked.

"All nine bags had a number of different samples, but only one set that was common to all nine," Abby continued.

"Our saboteur," Gibbs smiled a little.

"Our riggers on record packed the chutes, then someone came and repacked them, leaving some skin behind," I theorized.

"Corporal Ramsey," DiNozzo guessed.

"Well, depending on what he knows about forensics, he's either very smart or very dumb," Abby said.

"There's gotta be extra chutes Corporal Ramsey packed in Paraloft inventory for comparison," said.

She shook her head, "Negatory, I checked. They were all packed since he's been suspended."

I realized something, "Well, there's an armed forces DNA registry. All military personel are on record, right?"

"Yeah."

"Then we got our guy!" I felt pleased with myself.

"Nope," Gibbs said, "All we got is a pile of dead skin. The armed forces DNA registry can only be used to identify a dead body."

"Well there has to be a way around that," I said.

Gibbs smiled, "Now you're thinking like an NCIS agent," I smiled, "Take Trev, see if he can get Lieutenant Roberts to sign off on it," goodbye, my smile.

* * *

><p><strong>Trev<strong>

"Why are we going to the JAG office instead of them coming to us?" Secret Service asked.

"Because, it's going to be hard to get them to sign off on it," I said, tapping the wheel as we waited at a red light, "Look, we bring food to Bud and Harriett, and we get into polite conversation, and we get Bud to sign it without him ever realizing he did."

"For some reason, I don't thing subtlety is your strong suit," she said.

"Well, I did assassinate a president," I said. She scowled and shut up.

**JAG Office.**

"Hey Cousin Sarah!" I greeted with a, completely innocent smile, "Long time no see!"

She looked as if she suspected a lion was hiding in the grass, "Jon, how... it's..."

"Come on, you can do it," I encouraged.

"I... who's your friend?" nice save.

"Secret Service, Lt Colonel Sarah Mackensie, a her mom was a friend of my mom's," I introduced, "Cousin Sarah, Agent Kate Todd, NCIS. We ain't here on official business."

"Good to know," she smiled a bit, still weary, "And I hear you are on your first non-tactical assignment. What made you change?"

"Extenuating circumstances," I said cryptically.

"Hmm," she eyed my critically. It used to scare the shit out of me as a kid. Then again, when I was thirteen I knocked her out and put her in her uncle's truck. Not that she needed it. A few more drinks and she would have been in lala land anyway.

"You seen Bud and Harriett around anywhere?"

"What did you do to their car?" she demanded.

"Nothing!" I blow up her car one, repeat _one _time, and she just can't let it go"I got a favor I need to ask them."

"Harriett's right there," she pointed behind us at the Inspector General administrator.

"Hey, Harriett!" I greeted she smiled warmly. I think it's impossible for Harriett to really hate anybody. And, of course, there is the fact that I somehow manage to get the wives to love me, but the husband's to hate me. Except, of course, Bud.

"Hey, Trev," she greeted, "Who's this?"

"Kate Todd," she greeted, shaking her hand.

"_Secret Service,_" I coughed, "We got food. Wanna have lunch with that no-good-geek husband of yours?" for some reason, Bud actually _liked _that nickname.

"_Right here!_" said geek hurried over, "I smell Beltway Burgers."

"Nice one, Lassie," I said, "Four double-deckers. Oh, and a few burgers for you guys too."

"Cutting back?" he sounded surprised.

Secret Service was, "'_Cutting back?_' He's eaten more than this?"

"Way more," Bud said, sitting down at his desk, "It's surprising that his arteries haven't shut with a bang. Now, what do you want?"

"What? Can't a guy just ha-" Bud and Harriett both gave me that _don't bullshit us_ look. It's creepy how they do it, "Okay, we found epithelial cells on some parachute rigging on a homicide investigation. Nine were sabotaged, and one set was common to all of them."

"Sounds open and shut," Bud observed.

"You'd think, but we need access to the DNA registry to verify," I said.

"I can't do that," Bud said, "There is an iron-clad rule against it."

"I know, I know," I said, "That stupid case with those two Army privates who didn't know there place. But comeon, for every legal firewall, there is a way around it."

"It's iron clad."

"Sergeant Fuentes fell 1300 feet to his death, and impaled an SUV!"

"I can't lawyer you past it," he said.

"We are reaching the twenty-four hour mark. You know what happens when forty-eight passes."

"Evidence begins to degrade, witnesses change their statements, suspects improve theirs."

"So help us," Secret Service said.

"No," Bud's word was final.

I sighed, "Fine. Then can you get us into their lockers with a search authorization," I pulled the papers out of the Beltway Burgers bag. They only had a little bit of grease on it.

"Okay," Bud said with a little _too _much relief.

And the she realized it,"You set this up!" Secret Service accused.

I finished my first burger, "It's a trick developed by horse traders. Bid hard on the best horse in the lot. When the deal breaks..."

"Bid on the second best, and you get the horse at a fraction of the price," Bud finished.

"Were any of those horse traders hung?" she asked.

"A few," I said dismissively, "My Russian ancestors probably hung a few of them."

"Then why do the whole charade?" she asked.

Harriett answered, "He didn't have probable cause. Bud did this as a favor."

"Consider it a learning experience," I said, "Never work the system when you can work the people. The system is inflexible, people can be manipulated."

She scoffed, "And you let him do this?"

"Lawyers manipulate people all the time," Bud said, "We just take more care in making it _look_ like we follow the rules."

"And keeping it away from that creepy-ass Admiral who runs this joint," I said. And then I saw there faces, "He's right behind me, isn't he?"

"Oh, I wouldn't worry about that, Lieutenant," of shit, he means me, "There is _nothing _that goes on around here that I don't know about."

Before she could make the ultimate mistake, I stopped Secret Service from turning around, "Don't," I warned, "Once you see The Head it hypnotizes you. And did you know that that my little brother is screwing that Petty Officer whats-her-name?"

"Why do you still call me that?" he asked.

"Do you buff that damn thing?" I demanded, "Jesus, if the sun hits it directly, everyone in the room goes blind."

"How do you keep expecting to have a career as an officer if you piss people off like that?" Bud asked.

"He's chummy with the president after he _shot _him," and _there_ they go.

"It was a paintball gun!"

"It was point blank!"

"We are not having this discussion again!"

Bud looked confused, "I didn't know you got married, Trev."

And that was probably the last time I ever brought Secret Service to meet a friend again.

* * *

><p><strong>Kate<strong>

"Very lady-like," I commented after DiNozzo jumped off the platform.

"It was actually a pretty good landing for a rookie," Trev said.

"DiNozzo," Gibbs growled, "What are you doing?"

"Research," Tony said, "For Abby."

"Shall you or shall I?" Trev asked Gibbs.

"Me," Gibbs replied before promptly smacking Tony upside the head. Tony immediately looked chastened.

"It's a Marine thing," Trev explained.

"Okay, now how did you two get into NCIS?" I asked.

"I smiled," DiNozzo replied with a grin.

"Gave Gibbs a black eye," Trev said.

WHAT?

* * *

><p>Well, I finished my first case as an NCIS agent. I had a lot to learn. Gibbs would take some getting used to. Tony was a relaxing way of having fun. And Trev...<p>

He was _strange_. He always seemed alert, yet relaxed. Dangerous? Yep. Useful? Definitely. Intelligent? Without a doubt. Trustworthy?

I _think _so. He's more the guy I would want on my side in a fight, but not have my back.

**Trev**

So Secret Service did good. Not really surprising. She had that look in her eye. That spark when you know when to shut up and listen and learn. She had spunk, a need to prove herself. And, as though I hated to admit it, we had a lot in common.

We both grew up in small towns. She had that trusting nature no one in the big city would get.

Big families. She probably had quite a few older brothers, by her prickliness.

Love of weapons. She had, in addition to her SIG Saur, a subcompact Glock at the small of her back and a pocket .22 or .25 on the inside of her left thigh, not to mention the pocket knife in her pocket.

She's deceptive. She plays her cards close to the vest, eager to use one of her secrets to one-up DiNozzo. I use my secrets to play shake-the-hand-with-the-right-and-hold-the-knife-with-the-left game. She get's a laugh, I get a kill.

And last but not least, she's still reeling from Major Kerry's death. The man lived about an hour after he arrived at the hospital. The doctors could not resuscitate him. And, I had lost some of my own people too.

Well, it would sure be interesting to have her on the team.

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	3. The set up

**Now for a TIVA ****chapter.**

** Trev**

"Okay, DiNozzo, you have annoyed me for the last time!" Cause this was it. He had crossed the line.

The man had the audacity to look completely innocent, "I have no idea what you're talking about, Trev."

"My _Guns and Ammo_ magazine!" I said, flipping the pages, "The pages are dog-eared!"

"So?"

"_It's limited addition!_" I growled, "I swear, to all that is bright and beautiful, if this keeps up _I will end up murdering you!"_

"Get in line," Secret Service said, "I still have dibs from when he went through my purse."

"Secret Service, a word," I motioned her to follow. She rolled her eyes and followed me into the elevator. I sent it down and pulled the emergency stop switch, "This has got to stop."

"No kidding," she said, "Any ideas?"

"All illegal," except for one, and that was only legal in Arkansas. Man, dem' rednecks have loose laws, "Okay, your the profiler, and you've been here about a month now: at what times was he least invasive?"

"When he was the most self centered," she answered.

"Right, and what time was that?"

"Oh no," she shook her head.

"I don't like it either," I said, "But it has to be done."

"But this... _this..."_

"We have to get Anthony DiNozzo laid," I said.

"Damnit," she cursed.

"Yeah, I know," now he'll be annoying as hell, but at least he'll go through our stuff less.

"You can't be seroius."

"As a heart attack," I said, "You got any slutty friends?"

"I tend not to hang out with sluts," she said, sounding offended.

"What about Abby?" And then I thought about it, "Nevermind. I wouldn't subject DiNozzo to that."

"Don't you know any slutty girls?"

"Out the ass, but most are in San Diego or Coronado," with 2nd Squad, 1st Force Recon and Delta Squad, SEAL Six respectively, "And those that aren't don't really... I think I got an idea, but I don't like it."

"It can't be that bad."

Oh, believe me, it is _worse_.

* * *

><p>My target was about four meters behind me. I quietly sipped my beer, being sure to keep it my mouth a while before swallowing, to give me that drunk smell. I quietly listened to the conversation they were having, waiting for my mark.<p>

"And so, Sarah," I heard the man say, "What brings you to DC?"

"The nightlife," I heard my target say. Ha, she's funny. Mossad royalty being called "Princess" in Hebrew, "I hear it is excellent."

"That it is, Darling," the man said, draping his arm over her shoulders, "Now what do you say heading down to my place?"

She looked coyly, "And what do you suppose we do at your place?"

And that's when I made my move, "Hey, Sarah? _Sarah!" _wait for it..., "Don't you remember me? It's Mike, from high school!" _wait for it..._ "You remember, we had Chem together, Junior year! You were an exchange student!" And that is when her face fell.

She turned and smiled, murder in her eyes, "Mike, it is good to see you," she greeted, "Mike, this is George," George Mahachan was one of the world's most notorious drug smugglers. He was already controlled the drug trade for most of South Eastern Europe and the Eastern Mediterranean. He was currently trying to gain a foothold in the East Coast drug trade.

"Howdy," I said.

"Hello," he sounded disappointed. Good, he knows that he won't be getting laid tonight. Well, he probably wasn't anyway.

"Now I got _tons_ a stories to tell ya about Sarah here..."

It took no more than five minutes of using stories from my high school days, switching names, of course, to chase he man off.

And, of course, Ziva David was _furious_.

**Later, at another bar...**

"I cannot believe you did that," she growled.

"Well, look on the bright side: you aren't currently being hauled away by the DEA on drug charges," I said, "Even those idiots would have found out that you are Mossad in a few minutes. I just saved you from being stuck in Gitmo for the next decade."

"I could have handled myself," she defended.

"Against a dozen armed DEA agents?" I countered, "In fact, since I _am _a federal agent, by law I have to arrest you because I _know _that you are a foreign intelligence operative operating on sovereign US soil. or..."

"Or you could look the other way in exchange for a favor, which I have already done for you."

"You keeping that half-brother of yours out of here is a standing one, and won't change anytime soon," I countered, "What I want is for you to screw someone."

"Is that an American idiom for something?"

"It means have sex with him," I explained.

"_What?"_

"Oh, don't look so offended," I scoffed, "You're about as easy as a hooker, it's just the payment is different."

"You are out of-"

I held up my badge, "Agent," I said pointing to me, "Found foreign intelligence officer shmoozing a high-level drug smuggler on US soil. And I checked. No one has any idea you are here. So, either you go to Cuba for the next ten years, or you screw one of my coworkers and I pull some strings to expedite Mr Mahachan to Israel."

She scowled. Though it was a no brainer, she still hated my guts, "Fine."

* * *

><p>"DiNozzo!" I growled, grabbing him by the back of the jacket and dragging him to the elevator, and ignoring his indignant protests, "We are going to Abby's lab."<p>

Once there, on he flat screen was a blue print of a semi-fancy restaurant on 14th St. I slammed him into the chair, "At 2000 hours you will deploy to this area, at this seat," a red circle appeared in a secluded corner, "In the opposite seat shall be you contact. You _will_ show her a good time. You _will _offer to pay the bill. You _will _protest when she offers to pay half of it. You _will_ back down when she insists. Emergency egress routes, should you _absolutely _need them, shall be the back corner exit and exit next to the bathrooms."

The scene shifted, "At 2200 hours you will relocate with the contact to this nightclub," not trendy, but the music was good and the booze not bad, "You _will_ dance with her. You _will_ _not_ step on her feet. Again, Emergency egress route, shall be a back exit here," a circle appeared on the blueprint."  
>"Are you-"<p>

I brought my face dangerously close to his, and put a particularly psychopathic look in my eye, "Do you think this is a game, _boy?_"

He gulped and paled.

* * *

><p><strong>The next day...<strong>

"It worked," I said.

"How do you know?" she asked.

"Cause he's been whistling _Raindrops Keep Falling on My Head _for the past hour," I said. I looked at my Luminox watch, "Another thirty minutes and we'll know that it was _really _good."

"What happens then?"

"Then he starts whistling the _Andy Griffin Show_ theme," I said.

"Didn't sleep with her," DiNozzo called.

Wait, _what?_

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	4. Forget Paris

**I know it's been a while since I reviewed. I've been swamped with school and all the paperwork requiered for the Marines.**

** On an upnote, on June 18****th****, 2012, I SHIP OUT FOR BOOT CAMP!**

** Trev**

"We need to break them up," I demanded. Secret Service looked bored and impatient. Abby looked interested. Gibbs was impassive.

Secret Service rolled her eyes, "And why?"

"I'll explain," I said, "Firstly, cause she's a woman, so she's naturally conniving and viscous. The exception that proves that rule is Abby."

Abby looked pleased. I continued, "Second, she's Israeli, so she's particularly viscous."

"Oh, I'm waiting for the third one," Secret Service snarked.

"Thirdly, she's Mossad. Think CIA, except with rabies and not as much respect for human life. Oh, and added bonus, _she's Metsada!_"

"Met-whadda?" Abby asked.

"Israeli black-ops team," Gibbs answered. He got up, "As long as she doesn't spy on us, I don't care."

I knew I would lose him. I looked at Secret Service and Abby, "Can I count on you two?"

Abby shook her head, "Apart from putting two people together, I think you should stay out of relationships," she retreated back to her office.

I pointed at Secret Service, "I need help. Please?"

"What makes you think that there will even _be _a second date?" she asked.

"Cause he got the look," I said, "I'm talkin' interested look. Like wantin more than sex look."

"This is Tony," she scoffed, "Breakfast after is probably the farthest he ever got."

Oh, he got farther. But I promised him not to mention Wendy, "Secret Service, let me break this down to you:

"Say you're right. Say that all he wants is to get laid. They sex down, break up, problem solved.

"Now say your wrong. It goes from sex, to breakfast, to dinner. He starts thinking. Buy an apartment. Move in together. He might actually think that he got's a future with this chick. Then she gets transferred. To Egypt. Or Rome. He's become emotionally invested in her. He'll take it hard."

"Tony's a big boy," she defended.

"Who's datin a foreign intelligence officer," I said, "That's bad juju, for him and his career. This. Cannot. Last."

She chewed it over, "Have you already talked to him about her?"

"I tried," I said, "I really did."

_"Listen, ya need to stop seeing her," I said._

_ "Why do you talk like that when your anxious?" he asked._

_ "Like what?"_

_ "Like you're from Oklahoma."_

_ "Small town boy," I answered, "Listen, this chick-"_

_ "She has a name."_

_ "She's dangerous!"_

_ "I can take care of myself," he said, glaring._

_ "DiNozzo, ya don't-"_

_ He held up his finger in the _silence you fool_ manner, "I trust her."_

_ I honest to God never wanted to kill him more._

"I'll talk to Ziva. You get DiNozzo," I said.

She sighed in defeat, "Fine."

* * *

><p>"Whaddya mean, <em>you won't break up with him?<em>" I hissed.

"Just that," she said, taking a bite of her salad, "This is disgusting."

"You shouldda had the French Onion Soup," it was Meme's Café, "I can just as easily-"

"Sell me out?" she said, "Mahachan is already in the air over Israel. Do you think American authorities will be kind to you after you withheld that information?" she said, "Let me have some of your soup," she tried to get some with her spoon. I hit it away with my own.

"Get your own," I challenged. It was true, even I couldn't stop the shit that would rain down on me if I did that. Doom on you, Jonny, "Look, I know you're interested. Even if it's just that waitin-to-jump-him stuff."

"Why would I want to jump on him?" she asked.

Jesus Christ, "It's an idiom. It means have sex with him," and then her face lit up with understanding, "The point is, if he is so much as _seen_ with you, he becomes a security risk. That means he gets demotion, pay reduction, his career suffers."

"And how will they find out?" she asked. She smiled and thanked the server as she took away her salad and my empty soup bowl and placed our orders, "Pass the salt."

"Excuse me, but can you bring me some Tobasco?," she shook her head. of course they don't have any. God, I miss California, where the stuff was more common than ketchup, "Look, I know NCIS doesn't investigate it's own personnel without reason like Mossad does, but you and I both know that Eli _will_ find out. And he and Director Morrow aren't on good terms."

She frowned, and didn't say anything for the rest of the meal. When we parted ways she assured, "I leave at the end of the week. It shall end by then."

* * *

><p>"That has always interested me," Ziva admitted.<p>

"What has?" Tony asked.

"That all those little people would only run around screaming in random directions just waiting to be squooshed," she said.

"I think you meant 'squished' or 'smooshed'," he teased.

She lightly hit his shoulder, a smile on her face, "You know what I mean."

He laughed, "_Forget Paris _is going to be your new favorite movie, isn't it?" he asked. _Forget Paris _had just been shown in a park performance, with Tony and Ziva in attendance, with him bringing the wine and blanket, and her bringing the food.

"No," she answered, "_The Sound of Music_."

"No!" he sounded like he was dying, "Not a musical!"

"Yes!" she taunted, "A musical!" she cackled evilly.

They fell silent as they arrived at her hotel. They smiled and Ziva said, "You can come up... if you want."

Tony looked at her critically, mysteriously, and then said, "No, you gotta big, dumpy ass-"

* * *

><p>"<em>What?"<em> Secret Service asked, "He said that?"

"Of course not," I scoffed, "I was just seeing if you were paying attention," I took a bite of my burrito, "This is disgusting."

"Tastes fine to me," she had ordered the same as me, for once.

"I grew up in tiny apartment above Abuela Maria's place. She was a low class Mexican grandmother who could have cooked homemade Mexican food in California. Trust me, if you ever tasted that, you'd barely stomach this garbage."  
>"I'd probably burn my tongue off."<p>

Why does she think that Mexican food close to the border is too spicy? Tastes just right to me, "He shut up after that."

"Who?"

"DiNozzo," I said, "I couldn't get anymore out of him."

"Please this is Tony were talking about," she scoffed.

"I know," I said, "But the man wouldn't spill. Seriously."

"Wow," she sat back, "Must have been special.

_That's what I'm afraid of, _I didn't say it, but I thought it.

She said, "Why did Gibbs hire you?"

"Excuse me?" I said.

"You were assigned to NCIS, but you have to get Gibbs's approval before joining MCRT, otherwise you would be doing something else at NCIS," she said, eyes curious.

I leaned back and smiled, "You learned to play the game. Good work," I cracked my fingers and began.

"You came from the Ohio River Valley area, judging by your accent," I said, "I'd say Indiana, rural Indiana, because of a slight trace of Midwest there too. Farm girl, lot's of brothers, made you combative. You had to fight for what you wanted. Which puts you at odds with your sister, and by extension other women, because she got everything she wanted with a smile. Despite that you remain close."

"I barely return her calls," she protested.

"Lies, you called her before coming here," I challenged, getting it right. Her tell was a twitch in her left eye, barely noticeable, "She was cute, you were the tomboy. You studied finance in college, but not before trying something prestigious like law or medicine, which you did only for a short time. I'd say a full year, because you aren't the type to quite in the middle. You joined the Secret Service investigating first financial crimes, then protective detail. You prefer cute to brawn, wit to any real intelligence. The last time you got laid was five weeks ago."

"It wasn't that long ago," she protested.

"More lies," I accused, "Since Major Kerry died."

"Okay, now how did you know that?" she demanded.

"It's the way you treat new men," I replied, "Guarded, like you want to protect yourself from them. It's wearing off, but still there."

"Okay, I get it, you're a mind reader," she glared.

I shook my head, "Believe me, it's a curse just as much a blessing."

"Oh really?" she scoffed.

"Got it after an IED in Afghanistan iced half my platoon," I said, "I have trouble sleeping at night."

"Oh my God," she said, her brown eyes, for the first time when staring at me, turned to something other than gaurded. Now they were... not apologetic, but sad, as if for my sake, "I'm sorry."

I shrugged, "It's alright. Families don't blame. Corps don't blame me. Hell, half the time now _I _don't blame me. It's not like I can go back and change what happened. I just live with it."

"That seems... bleak," she observed, still with that weird sad look in her eye. Oddly, unlike most, I didn't mind. I found no trace of pity in there.

"Not as bleak as it was a few years ago."

She sipped her drink, eyes changing from sadness to understanding, or what could pass for it.

So she changed the subject, "What college teams do you support?"

To my amazement, she's from my (kinda) alma mater, USC.

LONG LIVE THE TROJANS!

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	5. The Immortals

** Okay, now I know that I haven't updated in a while. This chapter took a bit longer to get out do to writers block. Don't forget to review please!**

** Trev**

"The body has been in the water for less than twenty-four hours," Gibbs said, "NASQS got the body and shipped it over."

"We have an ID?" DiNozzo asked.

"Seaman Russel McDonald," Gibbs answered, "19, assigned to the _USS Foster._"

"Destroyer," Secret Service said, "Spruence Class."

"Hey, new kid on the been doing her homework," Gibbs encouraged.

"Yeah, learn the name and class of every ship homeported on the East Coast yet doesn't write down the forty plus rules he expects us to live by," I said.

"_USS Foster _left Roosevelt Roads two days ago on her way to Norfolk," Gibbs got up and stared at the plasma, "Body was found here," he pointed at an area where the US kept one of her innumerable tourist trap islands.

"Roosevelt Roads?" DiNozzo asked, "That's Puerto Rico. I. Have. _Always _wanted to go to Puerto Rico."

"DiNozzo, forget Puerto Rico," I said, "St Thomas, man, I went there when training with the SEALs. Man, big ti-" stuttered as I felt both Gibbs and Secret Service's glares, "Ugh, trip wires. And beautiful beaches we learned to lay mines in." I shut up then.

"Sometime night before last Seaman McDonald went overboard," Gibbs said.

"Anyone see or hear anything?" Secret Service asked.

"No," Gibbs shook his head, "Didn't even know he was missing till he failed to report to duty."

"Anything in the medical?" she continued.

"Nope," I had the file in my hand, benefit of being the only one besides Ducky with an MD "Other than being a game geek, this guy is just another swabbie."

"How can you tell that from his medical file?" Secret Service asked, with less of her usual hostility, which has been disappearing since our lunch.

"Guy's 150, 5'10'' scored a perfect 130 on Electronics Knowledge on his ASVAB, and does computer programming," I said, "If it looks like a dog..."

"Anything else unusual?" Jesus, DiNozzo, why even bother asking that question?

* * *

><p>"Weights," I said, "And not just any weights, the same weights I pumped iron with in high school."<p>

"Dress whites," DiNozzo observed, "Why?"

"Some suicides decide that need to look nice," I explained, "Something to do with self esteem."

"They're committing suicide," DiNozzo pointed out.

"Don't make sense to me either."

"What about the sword?" Secret Service asked.

"Officers, ceremonial," Gibbs answered.

"Our man's enlisted," DiNozzo pointed out.

"Again, self esteem," I said, "Makes him seem more important. In this case it's not about relieving the pain of a lonely existence or whatever, but more about inflicting that pain onto others that you have lost something important."

"That doesn't make any sense," Secret Service replied.

"It's suicide, if it made sense people wouldn't do it," I pointed out.

"Why assume suicide?" Gibbs asked.

"No bruising, dress whites are in good repair for being in salt water for a few days," I pointed out, "Those chains look to tight to be forced onto him. Add in the fact that he was a game geek, probably idolized ballsy guys like samurai who performed ritualistic suicide, and we got our chicken dinner."

"Now here's something else for the mystery tour," Ducky said, "This so-called ceremonial sword is sharp enough to slit someone's throat."

"Now that is weird," I said.

"Do you know why they drive on the left hand side of the road in England?"Ducky asked Secret Service. I smiled internally. Ducky was always looking for a new audience to tell his stories, "Dates back to medieval times. Most people were, and still are, right-handed. Yes it allowed them to slash at one another while riding on horseback."

"Ambidextrous people like me are lucky like that," for added measure, I drew my survival knife and started twirling it in my left hand.

"What about the chains?" she asked.

"Spanish manufacture, probably picked up at whatever Latin port the _Foster_ made," I said, "Used for everything that a specific type of chain is not required," she looked at me, "I hung out with a lot of supply guys when I became the designated scrounger for my unit. You'd be surprised how much they would bitch about that sort of thing."

"And how would you know about their manufacturing origins?"

"High-grade steel," I pointed out, "Barely rusted after two days in the ocean. Plus I done some not-nice stuff to the FARC with these chains."

"Are you two done?" Gibbs asked.

"Yes, well that much weight sent him down fast," Ducky said, "Now, if you will excuse me, I shall get our poor sailor out of his wet clothes."

"You're not gonna say 'And into a dry martini' are you?"

"No," Ducky chuckled, "No, we'll save that for later. For me, I'm afraid."

We turned to go out and Gibbs said, "Seaman's local, Henderson's in the file. You don't have to do the dirty deed. CACO" Casualty Assistance Calls Officer, "already notified next of kin," he handed me the file.

"Got it, I'll take Secret Service with me."

"I'm sure Trev can handle it alone," Secret Service replied.

"Consider it an order," Gibbs said.

* * *

><p><strong>Kate<strong>

"What's it like?" I asked on the drive there, "Telling someone that their loved one is dead."

"When I was 25, I made Sergeant," I said, "Gave me 6-man team in 1st FORECON. We were on our pre-deployment cycle, training on an oil rig. Word came in, terrorists seized an oil tanker twenty miles from Long Beach. So, we went out. Afterword. I drove up to LA to tell Grandma Takashi that Jimmy Tak wouldn't be visiting anymore. I'd rather be in combat than do that again."

"That bad?" I could just imagine it.

"Worse," Trev said, eyes firmly on the road, "Grandma Takashi was off the boat Japanese, didn't even move a muscle. Just bowed and thanked me for my time."

"How was that worse?" I asked.

"Hard to explain," he said as he pulled up to the house, "You keep and eye around, I'll deal with the mother."

* * *

><p>"Russel didn't have a whole lot of friends on the destroyer, did he?" Trev asked. I studied the sword hanging above the mantle.<p>

"Oh no," the mother replied, "He had many friends on the ship. He told me so in his letters," from where I stood, her quite voice sounded fragile.

"Was this sword Russel's?" I asked.

"It was my husband's," she replied, "He was Scottish. He served in the Black Watch Regiment."

"Russel's file said he was deceased," Trev said.

She nodded slightly, "He was killed in a car accident when Russel was twelve. Russel was devastated."

"Did Russel seem particularly... interested in the sword?" Trev asked.

"I... I don't understand," the mother said.

"His... he was found with an officer's sword," Trev explained, "In his letters, did he seem depressed, lonely?"

Her face set, and she sat straighter in anger, "Russel had his quirks, but a mother knows things about her son. He would _not _have killed himself," she turned to a corner of the room, staring at a statue of the Virgin Marry, "It's a mortal sin."

* * *

><p><strong>Trev<strong>

The _USS Foster _is a cruise missile destroyer that recently underwent a refit for it's computer hardware. We sunk about $2.7 million into a weapon of war so a few geeks can play video games and stream untold amounts of porn.

And, also, since the mainstream Navy does _not_ like being questioned by what they view as the internal affairs of the Navy, they aren't being very cooperative.

"Again, Electronics Technician, did Seaman McDonald have _any _hobbies, interests, pet peeves?"

The guy shook his head, "Mostly stayed to himself, sir. I wouldn't know anything about it."

The treatment I got from the crew was almost shockingly different from the last time I was on a Navy vessel. Last time, I was almost worshiped. Then again, last time I was commanding a SEAL boatcrew of 6 and we were kicking Saddam's ass, "Thank you ET, you may go now," no, I'm not calling him an alien, ET is an abbreviation of his rate. In the Navy, your rate is like your job, and it is combined with rank for enlisted of E-4 onwards. Electronics Technician+Petty Officer 3= ET-3.

* * *

><p>"Gibbs, this is getting us no where," I said, "Most of the crew have no opinion and seem to not like me, for some odd reason."<p>

"Yeah, it's an 'odd' reason," ouch, that hurt Secret Service, "According to his doctor, McDonald would not have killed himself."

"His supervisor has a different opinion," DiNozzo countered, "Any chance they were lying, Trev?"

I shrugged, "Most were telling the truth that they didn't know much. _All _did not like me."

"What do we know?" Gibbs asked.

"Other than what we were just talking about," I began, "McDonald sword fought someone on this ship, however, no one seems to be familiar enough with him to buy him booze, let alone cross blades."

"McDonald was a fan of playing an online fantasy game called _The Immortals_," Secret Service said, "His doctor doesn't think that he could have killed himself."  
>"Then that's where we go," I figured, "<em>The Immortals. <em>Find out who else plays the game and then we use my... _special touch_ with people to get who's decided to be Aragorn," the look Gibbs gave me said it all, "Read a damn book, Gibbs."

* * *

><p>"Did you swordfight in the machine room with Seaman McDonald?" I asked one sailor.<p>

"No, sir," he answered truthfully.

I repeated the question to another sailor.

"No, sir," another truth.

Abby had found a total of _nine_ people who logged onto _The Immortals _on this ship(damn Navy's been geekified.). From there it was all a matter of cross-checking where they were at the time of the log ins. Gibbs sent DiNozzo to Puerto Rico to find a description that crossed-out two of them, and another three had not been admitted to sickbay without injury. The rest of them were stereotypical geeks- pale, gangly, and about as big as my sister.

I pointed to the next.

He lied.

I smiled at him, "ET-2 Zuger, that your supervisor?" I pointed over to one of the four chiefs in the room. Zuger nodded, "Now, were you and McDonald sword fighting?" again, another lying shake of the head, "I don't like it when people lie to me, ET-2. If you do it again, I will take your supervisor into a back room and beat him. Hard. And then he's gonna come back with a few of his friends and wale on you twice as waled on him. Now, will you lie again?" he shook his head, truthfully this time, "Good, good. Now, let's talk... _swords_."

* * *

><p><strong>Kate<strong>

"I know why you're so opposed to the suicide theory," Trev said.

I rolled my eyes, "Why, because I'm Catholic."

"That's only a small part of it," he said dismissively, "Most of it has to do with Becca Whinebrenner."

I snapped my head up, and my eyes widened, _how did he know that?_

"Shy, lonely, took her life in your sophomore year," he continued, he voice growing quieter, "Catholic family, like yours. And you didn't care," he shrugged, not taking his eyes off me, "Not until her father drank himself into depression and killed your best friend on Graduation day while driving home drunk."

"How... how..."

"You're a member of _MADD_," he said, "And I checked the newspaper of you hometown for drunk driving deaths. From there I connected the dots to her suicide."

"You had no right-"

"I had every right as an investigator and as your teammate," Trev countered, "Caitlin, I have seen Catholics commit suicide, Muslims drink beer, Jews eat pork, and Buddhists rape and pillage. Most people are hypocrites. Which those we can find who aren't, all the more special," he smiled at me.

"Why are you smiling?"

"You aren't a hypocrite."

Before I could answer, the phone rang, "NCIS."

_"That's very official,"_ Abby said, _"Where's Gibbs? He's not answering his phone."_

"Having a talk with Kinvarus."

_"Why isn't Trev doing it?"_ that's exactly what he said.

"Gibbs wanted to do it himself," I answered.

_"Well, if he's anywhere near as wackjob as his rival, tell Gibbs to watch his neck."_

"You found his diary?"

_"Yeah, and this guy had serious diarrhea of the keyboard,"_ interesting expression, _"It'll take me a while to get through it all."_

"I'll do it," I volunteered, "I want to."

_ "Cool."_

Almost immediately the fax machine started humming and spewing out paper. Trev sighed and said, "Tell ya what, I'll help you read this stuff _if,_" oh boy, hear it comes, "You go out to dinner."

Wait- what? "Huh?"

"Not with me," he clarified, "It's bad juju if teammates date. A friend of mine has recently had some lady troubles."

"Divorce?"

"He'd have to get married for that and the woman he asked turned him down," Trev clarified, "You two are a perfect couple. Both Catholic, he's FBI, unfortunately, and you are both an ethical pain in ass."

"Thanks," I said dryly.

"No problem," he chuckled, "Look, I worked with him when he was in the Rangers and we were doing joint ops. He's a good guy who could use a little love in his life."

"What's his problem?" cause there is _always_ a problem.

"He might have a slight- _slight_- gambling problem."

"How 'slight'?"

"He wins a few beers at a pool hall."

"And how is that a problem?"

"He might have blown his entire life savings in Vegas after he was discharged," Trev explained, "It's like a former alcoholic having a shot once a week. It invites danger."

"Anything else?"

"His first name might be stupid."

Now it was my time to chuckle, "Sure, what's dinner?"

* * *

><p>"Not gewd," Trev said. I looked up from my own half of the diary.<p>

"'gewd'?" I repeated.

"This guy's craziness warrants a silly word," Trev said, "Or maybe a curse. Read this," he highlighted a sentence.

"_'Cut off the head of the snake... unleash a great plague upon the realm,'_" I read, "Is he talking about biological warfare?"

"The guy's file said he applied for the Nuclear, Biological, and Chemical warfare program and was rejected for psyche reasons," Trev said, "He might have done something."

"We have to tell Gibbs."

* * *

><p>"'<em>Cut off the head of the snake<em>'," Trev repeated, "Why include that?"

"Because he's going to set off a bomb on this ship," Gibbs said.

"No, I don't think that's it," I said, "It's a psycho-linguistic thing. I might not have a degree in psychology, but I do speak a lot of languages. _All _of them have a metaphor for killing an essential part of an organism rather than something that can be done without. Why the words _'cut off the head of the snake'_ rather than leave it as just '_unleash a great plague_'?"

"McDonald was a computer tech," Secret Service said, "A plague might mean a computer virus."

"There are ways to steer the ship manually if a virus shuts it down," I said, "Gibbs, what if he means killing the captain?"

"Good thinking," he raced through the hallways shouting "_Make a hole!_" to the NBC guys, us following behind, headed to the control room, "Skipper, where are you at sunset?"

"Ugh, in my quarters, writing a report," he said.

"Trev," Gibbs said.

"I'm on it," I raced to the captain's quarters, "What? Secret Service, why are you following me?"

"Make sure you don't do something stupid," she replied. I rolled my eyes and continued on.

* * *

><p>"Writing a report..." I searched for a computer, "There," I yanked the chair away and looked underneath. Nothing, "Computer tech, right?" I whispered, grabbing the computer, and then yanked my hands away, "<em>DAMN!<em>" That thing was _hot._

"What?" Secret Service asked.

"That thing is fuckin..." my mind reeled back to one of the papers I wrote in chemistry. The combustibility of certain chemicals, including silicon...

"Get out," I demanded, "We gotta get out, _now!"_

I shoved her out the door, and we _ran_ away.

The hardware a computer is made out of includes silicon, phosphorus, and magnesium. Of those three, silicon has the most heat conductivity, so it heats up faster and easier. Without a cooling system, the silicon is liable to become combustive, due to extremely small pockets of air trapped in it during the molding process. That in itself means just a few sparks for a desktop, even with the magnesium and phosphorus.

However, add something that will increase the explosive power, say C4, SEMTEX, or just gunpowder, and then the heat rises to the point where first the phosphorus, then magnesium ignite as well. And since those two elements burn three times hotter than the surface of the sun, if you stick them into a enclosed space, such as a desk top station, the air pressure skyrockets until it overcomes the structural integrity of the computer and explodes violently.

He made an IED out of a computer and a few bullets.

_BOOM!_

The overpressure wave knocked me off my feet and into Secret Service as we both crashed to the floor. Man, that _hurt_.

I started laughing. Secret Service demanded, "What the hell is so funny?"

"At least _someone _read my collage paper," I chuckled.

* * *

><p>"Aren't you guys at all interested in what I got you from Puerto Rico?" DiNozzo asked.<p>

I rolled my eyes, "Whatever, let's see it," as Gibbs and Secret Service said "fine" and "sure".

He smiled and handed Secret Service a bag. She took one look and said, "Really?"

"Bikini," DiNozzo defended, "Two-peice."

"A bottom," she pulled one out, "And a hat?"

"Puerto Rican," he explained. Gotta love that island.

"Are you gonna try that on?" Gibbs asked.

"You first," she tossed it into his face.

"Beleive me, it's not gonna fit."

"Pigs, I work with pigs."

He handed Gibbs a square package, which turned out to be a book, "It's a fantasy RPG book, complete with character sheets and dice. Baby steps, Gibbs," he patted his shoulder, "Baby steps."

"It's in Spanish," Gibbs pointed out.

"There's just no pleasing you, is there?"

He handed me thin package. I pulled off the paper and opened the box. A knife, about seven inches long, fell out. A Fairbarn-Sykes. DiNozzo said, "It's a-"

I drew my Great-Gramps's Fairbarn-Sykes knife, "DiNozzo, this is original. My Gramps got this when he was at Camp X."

He rolled his eyes, "I give up."

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	6. Day Off: Morning

**Trev**

"Hey, Margie," I said as I entered the building. Margie sat at her usual comfortable chair. She put down today's _Washington Compost_(It's what my dad called it) and stared at me with eyes behind large and thick glasses.

"Oh, good mornin, Mr Trevodur," she greeted, "How was work today?"

"Oh, paperwork, stale coffee, the works," I said as I checked my mailbox.

"Well, I think it's a mighty fine job you do, young man," she said, "Keepin killers and the like off the streets."

"Yeah," now if only we'd get one... "Markowsi paid his rent yet?"

"I have it right here," she got to her feet and scurried the way that seventy-year-old-black women do to the desk, pulling out a white envelope, "And your She stopped by today."

That stopped me in my tracks, "Whyyy?" I asked, knowing I would not like the reason.

"Some business conference in Baltimore," she said, as if it were an outing with friends. Knowing Her, I could only hope it _was_ out with friends. When She hasn't unwound, She gets... _ornery_, "She said she would be gone a week."

"_A week?"_ That's not good. Despite a very high degree of skill in the Big Business world, and She is rapidly climbing the corporate ladder, She is not that good at multitasking, so that would mean... "Oh, hell no."

* * *

><p><strong>Kate<strong>

"You have a toiletry kit for visitors?" I asked with a chuckle, "Do I get the feeling you've done this before?"

He laughed himself before excusing himself to the kitchen. I leaned a bit to get a better view of his... _artwork_, "Once or twice," Seeley Booth (Trev was right. He _did_ have a weird first name) said.

"Yeah," I laughed, "_Only_ once or twice," I grabbed the small fishnet bag that held a loofah, toothbrush, conditioner, floss, and soap. It was better than the "walk of shame" to my car early in the morning to cleanup before heading off to work.

After showering, I headed to his kitchen, aware that though his house was large, he definitelyneeded a female touch. His kitchen, however, was nice and functional, if it was a mixture of new fridge-old-stove, on which he was currently making eggs, "Scrambled? Cause that's about all I can make."

"Hmm, do you have any glutton free outmeal?" I asked, knowing he didn't.

"Huh?" he said, apperntly having no idea what glutton free _was_.

"Veggie wraps?" nothing, "I'm gonna have to train you."

"Hey," he warned, "I am not a dog."

"Really?" I asked, glimmer in my eye, "Because I can sure think of a... treat you might like," I pulled myself closer to him.

"Woof," he said in response, kissing my lightly. Unfortunately, my cell phone began to ring at that moment.

I looked at caller ID, "Damn," I swore, "I... gotta take this. Boss."

"It's 7 in the morning," he protested, "What, do you have a slavedriver for a boss?"

"Don't give him any ideas," I warned, "Hello?"

_"Trev called in and took the day off," _Gibbs said.

"And you gave it to him?" I asked. Gibbs did not seem like he would do something like that on short notice.

_"He said something had come up,_" Gibbs said, _"And he has more unused leave time _me._"_

"How's that possible?" Gibbs seemed like the type to view work as a vacation.

_"No clue. Hey, did you know that NCIS has a union?"_

"All federal employees have a union, Gibbs," I said, exasperated.

_"Since when?"_

I was tempted to say around the time he joined, when John Paul Jones was relieved of command, but I held my tongue, "Since before I joined the Secret Service."

_"I want you to check out his place, see if he's there."_

"Why?" I asked.

_"Trev has made a lot of enemies in the past," _He said, _"Something like this..."_

"Has your gut churning," I finished for him, "Unfortunately, I don't know where he lives."

_"That's easy. Just ask that boyfriend of yours. You're at his house, aren't you?"_

How does he do that? "Am I bugged or something?"

_"Get a move on," _great, now I am going to have to have Abby look over all my things to see if I _am_ bugged, "Where does Trev live?"

"He owns an apartment on North Garfield in Arlington," Booth said, "Why?"

"He called in and took the day off," I said, "Apparently that's unusual for him."

"Oh," he suddenly looked like he was gonna burst out laughing, "There's only one reason why Trev would _not_ show up for work."

"And that is?"

"You have to see it to believe it," he said, "Pants! I need pants!"

* * *

><p>Evidently, Booth not only knew where he lived, but also had a key and knew the landlady, a sweet old southern woman with really large glasses that magnified her eyes.<p>

What surprised me was that not only did he live in a nicer apartment than mine, but he also live on the top floor of said apartment.

But what really surprised me, was when he opened the door, was the fact that he held a crying infant in his arms.

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	7. Day Off: Afternoon

**Kate**

"Please tell me you are here to help," he almost pleaded, "She doesn't come with instructions."

"Meet the only reason Jon would miss work," Booth said, "Jennifer Trevodur."

"Yes, mock me in my hour of weakness," Trev sniped.

"No, your hour of weakness was the time you got post-partum depression," Booth clarified, "Don't worry, I got video."

"How come I never heard that you had a daughter?" I protested. I was too stunned to say more

"Cause in my old job, the less people knew about me the better," Trev said, his voice cracking a bit. The baby was still crying, "Sh, sssh, Daddy's here. Daddy's here. Stop crying, stop crying," he looked near tears himself, "Why won't she stop crying?"

"Okay, now I'm worried," Booth said as he gently took Jennifer from his arms. The baby quieted down, "Go take your anti-depressants."

"Why does she do that with you and not me?" he looked torn- his baby's happiness on one side, jealousy on the other.

I found my voice, "Ugh, babies are extremely sensitive to change, even the slightest ones. Any new clothes?..." nope, those were some of the rattiest sweats I have ever seen, with added spitum, "Soaps?" he shook his head, "Shampoo?" another shake.

Booth sniffed, "Do I smell perfume?"

I sniffed too. There was a vanilla and cinnamon perfume around him. Realization dawned in his eyes, "I had a nooner with a hot Forensic Anthropologist before I came home!"

"Really? Nooner? What are you 12?" we both said. He just shrugged.

"I'll be back in five minutes. Make yourself comfortable, don't let her eat the potpourri," he bound down a-

Holy Mary Mother of God.

In addition to being larger than my own apartment, the walls were lined with peg board, like the one my dad used to display/store his impressive amount of power tools. Trev's was displaying a sickening amount of _guns_. All types. Hunting rifles, handguns(explained why he came with a different sidearm everyday), submachine guns, military sniper rifles, M-16s, AKs, and more knives than a chef's kitchen. These were all behind the type of cage doors used to protect shops when they closed up. At the foot of them were burable padlocked bins that were probably holding ammunition.

If that wasn't enough, he also had a complete weight set, a treadmill, and yoga mat next to a soft leather couch, coffee table, and an entertainment system that would make Tony commit suicide out of jealousy. Shoved into a corner was a workstation with books piled around it.

"My sister would have a field day here," I murmured to myself, "How does he _afford_ all of this?"

"His Grandfather owns one of the US's largest PMCs and his father stole a lot of money from the Soviets that they _think_ has all been turned over, no one's really sure," Booth explained, "Trev was sent to Colombia once to," he took a breath, "'Be not-nice to the FARQ-EP', ended up stealing over a million dollars in cash from them. Invested it in a business, which ultimately..." he seemed to be searching for the right word.

"Bore fruit?"

"He owns 51% of a fortune 500."

"_Huh?"_

"Baby!" he warned as Jennifer began to whine. He made shushing sounds and gently bounced her, and did this ridiculous face that caused her to giggle.

"Your good at this," I observed, "Handsome, good with kids, what makes a guy like you single?"

His face fell, "Ugh, back right pocket," I reached into it and pulled out his wallet.

"Awww," I cooed, looking at the photo of what looked like a two-year-old boy, "He's so cute. What's his name?"

"Parker," Booth smiled with relief, "He lives with his mom, but I get to see every other weekend and the holidays. We were never married, so my parental rights are totally- wow, you bathe fast."

I was confused until Trev spooked me by answering in my blind spot, "If I left you alone with my daughter, Lyn probably would have jumped you in front of her."

"Don't call me Lyn," I warned, "And I wouldn't have jumped him."

"Mmhm," Trev was clearly not convinced, "So the thought of an eligible guy like Booth who's good with kids _doesn't_ turn you on?"

"No," I shook my head, staring into his eyes intently to sell my bold face lie.

"That staring into my eyes intently thing is something liars do to convince themselves that they convinced the other guy," Trev pointed out. I silently cursed.

Booth cleared his throat, "Okay, I'm just gonna, leave, like now," he handed Jennifer back to him. She stopped giggling, but didn't whine.

"See? You two are perfect for eachother," Trev observed, "You're both prudes!"

Oh, he doesn't know how wrong he is about _that_.

* * *

><p><strong>Trev<strong>

Okay, now that they are gone, it's time for my favorite time: Daughter Time.

**Later...**

I looked at my watch, "Wow, we've only been here forty-five minutes," I looked at her, "Aren't you supposed to sleep most of the day?" she just stared back at me. A different person would say she stared back at me dumbly. I say that she's just mocking me, "Now, if I even turn on the TV for a moment, your mom is gonna have my balls," not that I was tempted too. Elmo ruined Sesame Street, "What if I took you to the park to pick up chicks?" I'm liking the idea, not the thought of what She would do to me if She found out, "Combat is easier than this."

* * *

><p><strong>Tony<strong>

"He has a kid?" I asked.

Kate nodded, "I didn't know either. Name's Jennifer, she's so adorable."

"Why wouldn't he tell us?" Abby asked, "I mean, we're trustworthy people, aren't we?"

I bit my tongue. Yeah, we can be great at keeping secrets. As investigators, keeping a secret is almost as important as finding them. Oh, yeah, we let loose some information. But other than my flavor of the week, who really knows anything about me? The only reason Trev found out about Wendy was because he went digging into my financial history and found her name on a lease agreement from when we bought a place together. And he did that on a _dare_. The only thing I know about his past is his parents, David and Mary, died years ago, after he joined the Corps, and that he has a sister named Maggs and a brother in Metro.

"Well, we do hunt murderers for a living," I pointed out, "Each and everyone of us is a liability if captured."

"True," Abby said, "But what are the odds of that? I mean, it's not like you guys are fending off terrorists everyday."

"We were in al-Queda's sights during Commander Trapp's investigation," I pointed out, "And God only knows what Trev did before he came to NCIS."

"You know, she might be the reason he came in the first place," Kate pointed out, "I mean, she didn't look older than a year, and he's been here only six months longer than I have."

"True," I admitted, "You went all goo-goo eyed at her, didn't you?"

"No!" she lied. Of course she did, "When he gets back, I'm gonna give him that accusatory glare that he hates so much."

"You mean the one you usually save for me?" I put effort into sounding hurt. She glared at me before answering her ringing phone.

"Hello?... Hi, Trev... I wasn't... Accusatory glare? What are you... Umm, okay, I'll tell them... bye," she looked a little confused, "Trev just invited all of us to dinner at his place."

"Even Gibbs?" I asked, surprised.

"Even Gibbs."

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	8. Day Off: Evening

**AN: The Bunnies joke I got from _Crossin Jordan, _and the executioner joke from the American _Life on Mars._**

I answered the knock on the door, "Lyn."

She was dressed semi-formal, in a classy, silky top and black pants, ending in black pumps, "Trev," she nodded, "I brought wine," she handed me the bottle. Not bad, but not nice either.

"Thanks," I said, even though I already had a bottle of this stuff, "It's _Borsch_ tonight, and that's more of a vodka meal."

"_Borsch_?"

"Russian turnip soup," I said, "If there's one thing that Trevodurs know how to do, it's kill leaders of foreign nations and make a mean dinner soup," awkward pause... "Okay, jokes are out. Come in, come in."

"Booth couldn't make it," she said, "He pulled stake-out duty," I could see the indent in her cheek from where she was biting it.

"He showed you my post-partum depsression videos, didn't he?"

"I thought only women got that!" she couldn't stop the giggle escape from he voice.

"No, guys too, if we don't sleep much and have had a... trying time with the mother during the pregnancy."

"And how was it 'trying'?"

"She put DiNozzo to shame in terms of being a slob," I shuddered. I still couldn't look at chocolate pudding again.

"Ew," she said, "Hey Jennifer," she cooed at my daughter, who was playing with a set of plastic toothing keys. She looked at me and I nodded, signaling that it was okay for her to pick up my daughter. She prompty did so, resting her on her hip, "How are you today?"

Jen giggled in her arms. I was jealous. She never giggled at _me_, "Not tired, tell you that much," I complained, "Part of the reason why you are here is to tire her out so I can plan the next few days and _not_ have to bring in reinforcements."

"It would be my pleasure, yes it would," she cooed at Jen.

"It also gives me an excuse to spend four hours making _Borsch_," I said.

* * *

><p>"Oh, hohoho<em>ho<em>!" Tony laughed as he examined my entertainment system, "I know where I am going for Superbowl Sunday!"

"Trust me, man, you don't want to come here," I advised, "Jen's mom comes here and..."

_Last year..._

_ "YOU BLANKING MOTHER-BLANKER! FIX YOUR BANKETY-BLANK BLANK-BLANK-BLANKING-BLANKING EYES! YOU BLANKING..."_

"...the fun runs out real quick," I finished. It's also why I soundproofed the nursery. I compensated by having it more bugged than Nixon's White House.

"You really have need for all these weapons, Trev?" Gibbs asked.

"Paranoia, but not 'excessive'," I put the last part in air quotes and ignored Lyn's gag, "On the days were I don't really have anything to do I head out to Lejeune and let the 2nd Recon boys familiarize themselves with the more foreign ones," not all insurgents carried AKs, "No touching, Abby."

"Whaat?" she asked looking like she wasn't going to examine my workspace.

"Yeah I have a system, and being the freakishly neat person that you are, you _will_ mess it up," I said.

"A system?" Lyn scoffed, "It's looks like you just piled things in random places. What are you working on anyway?"

"If it makes you happy, I'm in the forth year of an eight-year doctoral program," I said.

"In what subject?"

"An academic one, and DiNozzo, swear to God, if you mess up my order of videos, there will be blood."

"What order?" he asked.

"_My _order," I pointed out, "Everything in this apartment is organized."

"You got a weight set next to your couch."

"Your AKs are next .44 Magnums."

"And where does _Risky Business_ fit into all of this?"

"_Pre-Impressionist Art in the early 20__th__ Century._ What exactly is your degree on?"

I have never been happier when the timer egg went off and my Borsch was done.

* * *

><p>Dinner ended up a drinking game. We each wrote down six questions, put it into a cap, passed it around, and after every answer we took a shot of harsh vodka. It made things interesting the fact that we had two very dirty minds at the table.<p>

"_Six times_?" I repeated as Lyn roared with laughter, "What are you doing having sex six times in one night? We're people, not bunnies!"

"He said 'Bunnies'!" Lyn laughed. After a few minutes of- sober – excitement, Jen had nodded off. I stayed sober because baby+drunk dady=not good.

"Now your making me wish _I_ had a drink," I pointed out as they each took a shot. It was my turn so I pulled out a slip of paper, "'Any charities?'," I read, "After work I coach the O-linemen at a school in the Heights."

"Ah, Trevvy here has a heart," Lyn said,

"Bet that badge helps motivate them to show up for practice, huh?" Gibbs said. Out of all of them, he seemed least effected by the liquor. Then again, he probably had more than a few years to train.

"They actually think that I tie the blindfolds on the guys before we execute them," I said. It was true.

"Isn't that what you did, Gibbs?" Tony asked. _I _thought that he was dead. Gibbs just chuckled and didn't answer.

God I hate not having a drink.

* * *

><p>First Abby, then Tony, then Gibbs left. I made sure they each got a cab as they were way too inebriated to drive. Not that they had driven in the first place.<p>

Then something happened.

**PLEASE REVIEW!**


	9. Sub Rosa

**Kate**

"You look like hell," Tony observed.

I glowered at his tailored suit frame, "A woman _loves _to hear that, Tony."

"If your coming down with something, don't sit next to me in the truck," Tony said nonchalantly.

"Guess there _is _an upside to having a cold," I said with a smile.

"Want to tell the doctor about it?" I just glowered. He won this round.

"Where's Trev?" Gibbs asked as he appeared from nowhere.

Surprisingly, it was Tony who answered, "His ex just picked up his daughter, he's on his way in right now," I shot him a questioning look and he answered, "He sent me a text."

That's weird. Usually Trev would send _me _a text on my PDA about scheduling conflicts like this. Maybe it was what happened after the diner party...

"Kate!" Gibbs snapped me from my musings, "Ready to go?"

"Uh, all set," I quickly ran down my mental list, "And Ducky and Jackson are already on their way," I grabbed my coat and positioned myself in front of Gibbs' desk. And then it happened.

I spilled Gibbs' coffee.

"Oh, God!," I exclaimed and bent down to pick up the empty cup, "Oh God, I'm sorry. I..." that blue eyed stare wasn't angry, or upset, or even slightly annoyed. They looked... emotionless. It was creepy, "What do you put in you coffee?"

"Coffee," even the tone was devoid of emotion.

"Okay... I'll just go down the hall and get you another from down the hall," smile, Kate, smile. Smiling always made people forgive Rachel.

"That's... not coffee," Gibbs turned and strode in his usual quick and efficient manor to the elevator. I once more cursed the fact that I got the short end of the stick genetically to my sister. Though, if I think about it, Rachel probably couldn't charm her way out of Gibbs' wrath either.

DiNozzo looked stunned and his eyes followed Gibbs to the elevator. I saw Trev exit it and engage Gibbs in conversation.

"I never experienced Gibbs without his morning coffee," Tony said, and then he saw Trev hand his coffee to Gibbs and the older man smiled, amused and a little thankful, "Oh thank God."

* * *

><p>What was weird was seeing Trev in a suit. I sat in the passenger seat as Trev drove, a reward for offering his coffee to Gibbs, "That's a nice suit," indeed it was. Black silk jacket and tie, with a crisp, starched white shirt under. To the untrained eye, it was almost exactly like the one DiNozzo wore. It made him look compact and broad shouldered. But it wasn't... him.<p>

"My ex deals in investigating in-house for a major conglomerate," Trev said, his voice lacking the usual blunted edge, making it sound like I was being dealt with, "She sees people in these suits all the time. They annoy her."

"So you wore a nice suit to annoy your ex?" I preferred when he showed up in his usual "blue-collar bastard" (jeans, shirt, tube socks, workboots) look, for some reason.

"Yes."

"Something wrong?"

"No."

"Then what's your problem?"

"I don't have one," and that right there was all the answer I needed. I had thought that maybe he would just sweep it under the rug and chalk it up to vodka... "We're here."

* * *

><p><strong>Trev<strong>

"Yes, there are multiple uses for hydrofluoric acid on a naval base," Ducky explained, "Yes, it's most common use is to surface clean metal. Highly corrosive, readily penetrating human skin and decalcifying bone. From the look of this poor fellow he wasn't in that barrel for very long. I'd venture... less than twenty-four hours. Mr Trevodur, you did say that you had a recent... ah, romantic engagement to a forensic anthropologist?"

"She's in Nicaragua identifying people the cartels would rather not have her identify, Ducky," I said, "All she has is a sat-phone and a buddy of mine from a PMC guarding her ass. Tough mother-trucker."

"Ah, hiring a guard to protect her. How noble of you, Mr Trevodur. But aren't you worried that your guard might take advantage of her?"

"I was talking about her," Temperance Brennan, PhD, was vindictive and violent sow when angry, and she seemed to attract trouble like a naked two-dollar hooker. Fact that she weighed about as much as a fart in the wind never stopped her.

"Worst case of acid indigestion I ever seen," DiNozzo observed.

"Tony, why don't you take Micheal Jackson here before he ralphs," Gibbs advised, "Is he wearing crackerjacks, Duck?"

"Yeah, definitely enlisted," Ducky pulled a piece of eroded and dirty white cloth from the corpse, "Fingerprints are out of the question, but, on the left forearm, there is a bit of skin, with some discoloration," he held it up so Kate could continue to take photos. I was busy taking samples of both the spilled acid and the non spilled acid. I would be going over it with Abby.

"A birthmark?" Lyn asked.

"Possibly," Ducky admitted, "I will be able to tell more when I get him home."

"Armed forces DNA registry should give us a name," Lyn theorized.

I shook my head, "Backlogged."

"We're gonna have to wait forty-eight hours," Gibbs said. And that's being generous. It could take up to nine hours just to get the DNA analyzed, "Trev, with me."

I put the samples in the Fragile Evidence Box and followed.

What was weird was the base was guarded by actual Marines, instead of the usual DOD rent-a-cops. Outside the gates were some of those stupid protestors who protested anything from meat in MREs to greenhouse gases emitted when we fired our rifles. I just hope some of them would do something even more stupid and give me a chance to blow off some steam.

"With inspection procedures as tight as they are, he was probably murdered on base," Gibbs theorized to the MP NCO.

"I can tell you he wasn't brought in here in the trunk of a car," the NCO said.

"Which means he had to have been murdered by someone with clearance," Gibbs said.

"Not really," I said, "No offense to our friend here but with a little imagination and some balls a person could breach defenses somewhere on base. So long as they act like they belong they don't raise a lot of eyeballs until it is too late."

"Anyone reported missing?" Gibbs asked.

"I had a sailor reported UA a month ago but he was found in his home a week later," the NCO replied, "And if someone did break in, they didn't come through _my_ sector."

"Of that I have no doubt," yep, security had definitely been breached.

"'Whale hunters'?" Gibbs asked.

"They've been bugging us for weeks," the NCO replied.

"Why don't you just shoot them?"

The NCO chuckled, "I've been tempted."

* * *

><p><strong>Kate<strong>

"_Good morning, guys," _Abby said cheerfully. Only she could be cheerful at this hour.

"Where's Ducky?" Gibbs asked.

_"Right here, Jethro."_

_ "Hey, Gibbs," _Trev greeted from the lab. He was staying to help Abby process the evidence. I was thankful to Gibbs for that, because I didn't want to have to deal with the short-tempered agent full time right now.

"You got a name yet?"

_"We're good but were not that good,"_ Ducky protested.

"So what do you got that's good?"

_"Death was from blunt force injury, there was a fracture to the rear of the skull_," I made a note in my PDA, and began to build a profile of the killer.

Our psychology will emerge in most of the major things we do and many of the minor things. A person with control issues, for example, will usually try to stay neat and organized. Even people who have "recovered" from OCD will probably make sure at least one thing is organized, even if it is the amount of drawers in a desk or dresser. When a person murders someone, they will often times resort to their basic personality traits. In this instance, someone who strikes at the back of the head will be more likely to lie low and try to remain in the background. Someone who beat them from the front is "braver" and more assertive.

"That's it?" Gibbs asked.

_"No,_" Ducky answered, _"Remember that discoloration we found that we thought would be a birthmark? Well, it wasn't."_

_ "I digitally enhanced it, watch,"_ she pressed a few buttons on her keyboard and the image of the mark grew sharper as the computer worked it's magic.

"Looks like a Rorshach test," I observed.

_"Why can't you just call it an inkblot test like every other human being?" _Somehow, Trev's snaps come off as... indifferent. It's even more hurtful than if he filled it with malice.

_"Ouch, Trev, what has your panties in a wad?" _Abby asked, _"It's a tattoo of a dolphin."_

"Our victim was a submariner," Gibbs said, "You find anything, Trev?"

_"The vic entered the vat exactly 26 hours, 25 minutes ago,_" Trev said, _"At that time, the vat was in the loading dock waiting to be disposed of after being used to debarnacle another sub, the _Richmond, _on dry dock after hitting an iceberg and rending it's hull. There was no security cameras on the vats, and they appeared to be pretty easy to get to."_

Gibbs shut the laptop before Ducky could go into a long soliloquy about tattoos.

* * *

><p><strong>Trev<strong>

"So, what's the matter with you and Kate?"

"Nothings the matter, Abby," I sighed, and passed her the report on the evidence I handled. Though I was certified to do forensics, I had to run by every evidence report with the Head of Major Crimes Forensics, which was her. She ran a department of herself.

"Baloney," she called.

"Even so, it's between her, me, and God."

"I thought you didn't believe in God," Abby accused, "You've been acting weird since you got back. What'd you do, have a huge fight with your ex?"

I scoffed, "Abby, it would be unusual if I didn't. Our whole relationship is one big, civic, sometimes sexual, fight. And what do you mean, weird?"

"Hello," she made an up-down gesture at me, "You're wearing a _suit_. A nice suit, a _real_ nice suit, but you never wear suits!"

"Not true, what do you think my Alphas are?"

"Non-uniform suits!" she clarified, "You probably would have styled your hair if it was long enough to style," it was true. I kept my hair cropped short enough not to need to worry about bedhead, yet long enough that I could pass as a civilian.

"And is there anything wrong with wanting to look nice?"

"You never want to look nice," she said, "You're like Gibbs; if it it's flashy, you don't wear it."

"So glad you pay so close attention to my dress habits."

"And you snapped at Kate today," she said, "You never do that. You're too nice."

"About a hundred-and-fifty people who are six feet down would argue that point, Abby," I said.

"Something is wrong, and I am going to find out what," Abby vowed, turning on a heel and fast pacing to her desk.

"What are you doing?" I asked.

"Calling Kate," Abby said. She lifted the phone from it's cradle. I pushed it back down.

"I kissed her."

At first she looked confused. And then realization dawned on her, "You-" I clamped my hand down over her mouth.

"I am going to talk. And Abby, you will _not_ speak a word of this to _anybody_," I said.

"I have no _legal_ custody of my daughter. Her mother hates me. In fact, the only reason that she even lets me have _any _time with her is because she had a great relationship with her own dad. Seeley Booth is going through the same thing. And he is one of my friends, one of my _best_ friends. It's not worth losing a friend, and losing Alyssa's piece of mind, by turning this into one long, drawn-out, dramatic fiasco. It's not worth losing one of the few good relationships I have over a kiss where she was drunk, and I did nothing to stop it."

She absorbed that information. For once, since I've known her, she was quiet, and still. Finally, she said, "Alright. But after this case is over, you have to talk to her."

"And say what, 'Hey, I'd like to apologize for kissing you in your drunken state, except I can't because you kissed me and I liked it'?"

"You'll think of something," Abby said, turning to her computer. She worked for a few moments before whirling back, "So, _is_ she a good kisser?"

"_I will not discuss that with you_."

* * *

><p>They pulled me up for the discussion with Captain Veech. Alright, it got me moving. I ditched the tie. For some reason, I didn't want to lose the suit quite yet.<p>

I chose to keep my eye on Veech. I asked around on the way up, contacting some of my SEAL buddies, who heard scuttlebut from the close-relative Squids. Veech was an old warrior, a Mustang who rose from cleaning the tubes to commanding a Squadron. He learned to listen to the Chiefs, and had a reputation for getting things done, and viewed anyone outside of his command structure with suspicion. A Sailor of the Old Navy. He would not be cowed easily by Gibbs, which I told him. Gibbs just smiled, like he relished the chance to go toe to toe with him. Gunnies and Chiefs, ballsy sumbitches both.

"You're telling me somebody killed one of my sub crew members to take his place?" Veech asked.

"I think there is a real possibility, Commodore," Gibbs replied. I advised him on it, as Mustangs have a deep sense of Underdog Syndrome. Playing to their vanity is one way of dealing with them.

"Not on my watch, Agent Gibbs," Veech said. Damn, he was going to be difficult.

"Can you take that chance, Captain?" Damnit, Gibbs, can for once just take my advice completely? "It would have to be someone new. Humor me."

Veech crossed his arms. Damn, he recognized Gibbs as a former Gunny. Gunnies can be dealt with, "Alright, I'll beef up security, have everyone's ID checked up against their service record."

"What about the _Philadelphia_?"

"She's a day out."

"So, call her back," that in and of itself is a risky move. If he does, he'll screw-up a carefully planned deployment schedule with Fleet and possibly screw himself out of a star.

"Agent Gibbs, the _Philadelphia_ is enroute to join a NATO exercise in the Atlantic," I hate NATO at times like these, "And your _theory_ is highly speculative at best. At worst, it's preposterous. I'm not about to bring her back."

"Then send Agents Todd and Trevodur to rendezvous with her to interview the new crew members," Gibbs suggested. I was surprised that he didn't want to go himself.

And the Veech said the words, "Well the presence of a woman aboard a sub is extremely disruptive. You know that, Agent Gibbs."

I felt something snap within me. I pulled out my silver Zippo and flicked it open, just like Coach taught me before game time years ago, "_Dolzhen li ya zapisatʹ yego?_" I asked politely.

"I do," Gibbs answered the captain.

"Don't you have another agent you can send, or even go yourself?"

"Yes I do," Gibbs answered. I couldn't read his voice, because I wanted this mother-fucker to _burn_, "Kate step out."

She looked like she was about to protest, but left the office without a word. I followed.

She whirled around, "What is this, Victorian England? The-"

"Say the word and I burn him," I said, "Just tell me too, and I'll fuck with the Admirals in E-Ring and his career is _ruined_."

"And how would you do that?"

"What, you think I got this far because of my charming personality?" I scoffed, "I've protected myself from those assholes with enough blackmail to make sure I get places."

"And your willing to use it-"

"To screw him? Hell yes! No one spits on a member of _my team_!" no one spits on one of my friends.

I heard the sound of door opening behind me. I didn't need to turn to see what happened.

Caitlin Todd began to tell him off. He asked her if she was claustrophobic.

* * *

><p>We hopped a COD to the <em>Enterprise.<em> From there we hopped aboard one of the escort destroyers. After that, we boarded a glorified rowboat with a motor and climbed aboard the _USS Philadelphia_, a Los Angeles class attack sub, wet dream of Squids everywhere.

The Skipper greeted us personally, "Welcome aboard the _Philadelphia_. I am Commander Peters, this is my XO, Lieutenant Commander Ackling."

"Agent Trevodur, Agent Todd," I introduced.

"Can I help you with that ma'am?" one thing not known among civilians, it's that most all stag units are pretty polite among women. Need someone to fix the sink while hubby's away? Go get a Squid, he'll do it for free.

"No, thank you."

"Why don't we go to the Wardroom," it sounded more like an order, "XO, take the conn."

Commander Peters was a vetran of Desert Sheild, Storm, and the newer invasion. He held perfect fitreps, was a decorated Sailor. That said, a good file is only worth wiping your crap.

"I have quarantined the men, as you requested. They said you would fill me in, Agent Trevodur, so fill me in."

"One of those men may not be who they say they are, Skipper," I explained.

"I find that hard to believe," Peters said.

"A body was found at Norfolk," I said, "It was made unidentifiable, possibly on purpose. We have reason to believe that he was a submariner."

"Fifteen of your crew are new," Lyn said, "Four can be ruled out because of dental x-rays, six because of ethnic origin or body type."

"So that's it?" Peters asked, "Your conclusion is based on supposition."

"Most of the time supposition is what keeps us from a terrorist attack," I said, not blinking before the Skipper's gaze. I needed to show him that though I may not be as old or as high ranked as he is, I had to show him that I had balls.

"I interviewed everyone of those men when they boarded and reviewed their personnel files before any one of them boarded," Peters hissed.

"I just wish to do the same, Commander," I said.

"You'll get your opportunity Agent Trevodur, but understand that this boat is about to embark on an ASW exercise."

"Anti-Submarine Warfare," I explained, "Multi-million dollar, underwater paintball."

"One of our subs will be playing the enemy?" Lyn asked.

"The _Augusta,_" SSN-710, Los Angeles class. Deployed from her off the coast of Africa for a few weeks of fun and games with the local warlords. Ahh, the bad old days... "Me and her Skipper have a bottle of Stola on who wins. So you can see why I am anxious to have those men back to their duty stations, ASAP."

"I got better reasons to keep one of them out of their duty stations, Skipper," I said, "I'd like the COB to keep the men from talking to each other."

He inhaled, "That's affirmative," before leaving.

I looked at Lyn, "COB, Chief of the Boat."

"Thank you," she said, as she began to unpack her kit.

"I'm sorry I snapped at you," I said.

Somehow, her easy silence made me feel better than if she said she had forgiven me, "About the kiss..."

"It was stupid, I know," she said, "Vodka and me do not go well," she bit her lip and turned around. So, she tried this once before with similar results. My mind went to Catholic uniforms and best friends. I took a mental snapshot and stored it for later.

But I was glad that we at least agreed, together, to put it behind us.

* * *

><p>Thomson lied to me. Blantantly. Almost insultingly. Seemed to hold me in the highest disdain. Who did her think he was, an officer?<p>

Drew was sweating buckets, but he answered most of his questions truthfully and with honesty.

So why did Drew set me off more than Thomson? Why would I be more worried about him lying about a year in collage than I would be about a man who lied about an entire year of his life. Drew just seemed to make me edgy.

I mentally reviewed every one of Drew's moves from the moment he walked in here. I tapped my leg in synchronized taps with my fingers, a trick I developed to help my memory. To the untrained eye, they seemed random. But to me, two-taps with middle means _walk_, one with pinky means _legs_, and an assorted number of combinations for limps, pace, distance of strides, anything to do with walking and legs.

I remembered because my body memory is exceptional. My dad taught me this trick so I wouldn't fail 3rd Grade. Every spelling test, math equation, and fact I've learned I acquired from this one technique.

But I wasn't focused on this. I was focused on what another teacher told me.

_Camp Peary, Virginia. Political Stabization Unit training facility. TRACKER Team._

_ "Watch him," Tarquin instructed, "See the way he sets his shoulders?"_

_ "No."_

_ "Good. He's doing that to distract you from this," he paused the video. The man's jaw was __slightly to the side, "A tic."_

_ "He knowingly showed his emotion so we wouldn't see a tic?"_

_ "When a man looks nervous, we stop looking for tics. But the emotion is fleeting, it comes and goes away. We've come to associate his nervousness with one particular look. A false look."_

A false look.

That's why he pressed his wrong thumb onto the pad. It's why he started ambling on about his childhood. I have no doubt that he built an amp as a kid, but he was genuinely nervous about this interview. Not because he had bad interview skills. But because he had something he deemed important, no, _vital_, to hide from us. He gave us a false look.

I started up, causing Lyn to flinch in surprise, "What?"

"Drew, he gave me a false read," I explained, "His monologue, his making a simple mistake. He wanted to disguise his wanting something to hide from us. Something he could get into serious trouble for."

"You really think it was him?"

"I wish I taped the interview, but I'd bet my bottom dollar on it. COB!" again she flinched, "Where's Drew's rack?"

* * *

><p><strong>Kate<strong>

I had to learn where Trev learned all this. From what I could tell, by the look on Drew's face as Trev systematically searched his rack, Trev had hit the nail on the head. He kept his eyes trained on the bulkhead in front of him, but his breathing was long and slow, as if forcing himself to remain calm. Little did he know that often times it wasn't the showing of an emotion that gave them away. It was the suppression of one.

"Spread your arms," Trev ordered.

"You can't be-"

Trev was in his face faster than I thought possible, and whispered dangerously, "I am a Special Agent of the Naval Criminal Investigative Service, and an _officer, _in the United States Marine Corps. Spread. Your. Arms."

Drew gulped and raised his hands...

And elbowed him in the face.

Trev went down. I drew my SIG, but the COB already had Drew pinned down. I dug my knee into his back as I cuffed him.

"What are you doing?" Trev demanded.

"Cuffing him!" I said.

"No! SIG Saur!" he pointed to the weapon in my hand, "Don't you know that firing a weapon on a submarine is assisted mass suicide?"

"What? I didn't-" Trev and the COB gasped and about had a conniption fit as I raised my SIG accidentally. I rolled my eyes and put it back in it's holster. They both sighed in relief.

* * *

><p>"Where'd you find Trev?" I asked Booth. We were having a dinner of burritos (I at least had a veggie) on the steps of the Lincoln memorial. I had to admit, the view made even burritos romantic.<p>

"Me and my spotter were tasked with a mission far from any reinforcements. We went in, did our job, but on the way out... my spotter was wounded. Trev had heard of a 'crazy Ranger asshole' doing the mission and decided to help out. He and some of his boys volunteered and dressed up as locals, drove a beat-up old truck to my AO, and extracted me and my wounded spotter out."

"Did the spotter make it?"

Booth shook his head, "But he saved my life that day, and we've been friends ever since."

"You ever managed to repay the favor?"

He chuckled, "More than either of us cares to remember."

"I, uh-"

"I know."

"_You know?"_

"Trev told me. I was waiting for you to say something. Honestly, if I had to wait any longer I would have been upset."

"I'm really sorry."

"It's okay," Booth chuckled, "Really, it is. You were drinking, and it never evolved to anything past that... it didn't, right?"

"He put me in the cab and sent me on my way," I assured him, "And Booth. Thank you, for saving his life."

* * *

><p><strong>Gibbs<strong>

Some people think that it's cathartic. Nah, not for me. Yeah, steady rhythm, the labor, the focus, it takes the mind off things. But that's not why I do it. It keeps me busy. Keeps me moving. My brain and hands occupied. My energy used. And, if I happen to create something beautiful in the process, that's an added bonus.

I never was able to figure out how Trev can come down those stairs silently. I said, "Bourbon?"

"Why'd you send me and Lyn instead of going yourself?" Trev asked. He was still dressed in that damn suit.

"Looked like you needed to work some things out."

"Hmm," Trev said. Of all the people I worked with, none were like Trev. He was like me, in a way. He would protect his own. A warrior of the old way, a cowboy from Hell. But he could do it swiftly, silently. An cowboy of M4s and automatics and C4 and shadows instead of sixshooters.

"You got the intel?"

"Operation FOX-HUNTER," he held up a file, "Heavy shit, Gibbs. It put Morrow on the map again."

"Is that a good thing?"

"Morrow is a good director, loyal to us, but he won't hesitate to accept a promotion to Deputy Director of one of the Big Three," CIA, FBI, Homeland Security.

"And FOX-HUNTER?"

"One of the half dozen successful ops that Morrow oversaw. I'll search for a common element, see if I can see his successor."

"I never asked you to do this."

"You never asked me to stop," Trev said, "You and I both know how special the relationship this team has with the Director. We're his guards, goon squad, we answer to no other authority than him and the SECNAV and then the President. No middle men, no control mechanism."

"I know."

"Then you also know that the next Director could make or break us," Trev said, "So, what do we do?"

"What we always do: our jobs."

Trev looked like he hated those words.

**PLEASE REVIEW!**


	10. WINTER TREE, Part 1

**Now I'm gonna try something new:**

** Mysteries. One for every character in the show plus my OC.**

** Trev**

"Merry Christmas," I said dejectedly, "Tony," I threw him a pair of keys, "Lyn," I handed her an envelope, "Gibbs," I dropped a pocket knife on his desk.

"Well, don't you just ooze Christmas spirit, Trev," Tony observed.

"I have to go to Alyssa's place for Christmas dinner."

"That sounds nice," Lyn said.

"It doesn't," I corrected, "She wants to set a precedent for the future. Christmas with my kid, and all that."

"And you don't want to spend Christmas with you're daughter?" Gibbs said.

"She's less than a year old," I said, "She can't even understand the concept of Christmas. It's basically if you want to spend Christmas with an ex-wife."

"Sucks to be you," Gibbs observed.

"Yep."

"What are these too?" Tony asked.

"You're 'new' Pontiac GTO convertible," I said. Tony looked like he might feint, "Hug me and I take it back."

"You rat bastard," He said with tears in his eyes.

"'_Halvsies on master cylinder, 1973 Charger,'_" she read off the card.

"Already bought it, cost $200," I said, "It's a present for Booth."

"Thank you," she sighed, relieved, "He's been looking for some car part or the other and I could never find it."

"Master cylinder," yes! Please, let murder be on the other end of Gibbs' phone! "1973 Dodge Charger."

"What'd you get Abby?" Tony asked.

"I convinced a Brigadier General to preside over the promotion of Major Mass Spec to Lieutenant Colonel," I said. John X. Taylor (why does every Marine general have the middle initial X?) had served in West Germany as a young lieutenant working for the DIA. He ran afoul by discovering a few trade secrets of a team of Spetsnaz. My father then proceeded to assassinate all of them. So, he owed me. Didn't like me, but owed me.

"Trev, postpone that promotion, body found in Lincoln Heights," Gibbs said.

"There's always a body at the Heights," I said.

"Well, this one carries a Navy ID."

"Touché," I said, "I'll call Ducky."

"Driving," Tony called.

* * *

><p><strong>Kate<strong>

We _had _to get a body the same day that I was going back to Indiana. I hoped we finished this case up quick. I needed my yearly dose of Mom's Oatmeal Rudolph cookies.

"Victim is Petty Officer 3rd class Jeff Omar," I said, reading from my PDA, "Worked in the Pentagon as a clerk. A sister in New York, mother died a few months ago, no father."

"Sad story," Trev observed as he took pictures.

"Quite," Ducky agreed, "Sad, to be killed so close to the holidays." he bent over the body. Tall, African American, civvies. His jeans were covered in blood due to stab wounds in his lower abdomen. His face was frozen into an expression of surprise.

"It's even sadder to be killed in a _school_ three days before Christmas," Tony said, "What's up with that anyway? Why is a school selling Christmas trees?"

"Fundraiser," I said, "Mayor pumps a lot of money into school systems, especially these ones with low-income kids. Rich effect causes the money to be tighter than it originally was."

"Rich effect?" I asked, "You mean _Nouve Riche_?"

"Precisely," Trev said. He continued when he saw Tony's confused expression, "Someone without money comes to a lot of money very fast, they buy stupid things. Works for people, and institutions. People buy fast cars and fancy clothes and forget to put money down for their kids college. Schools buy new teachers."

"What's wrong with that?" I asked.

"They never seem to buy _good_ teachers," he said.

"So, how does this connect to fund raisers?" Tony asked.

"Blow through the money so quick, they forgot to buy needed things, like textbooks, AV, equipment, things for clubs."

"Fan of clubs?"

"I coach football, Tony."

"Kate, witness statements," Gibbs ordered.

I internally sighed. I _hated _witness statements. Most of the time, witnesses either lie or haven't seen anything. The rest, what they do see is either not what they they think they saw, withold information, or just plain stay quiet. Rarely, you will find something actually useful.

Oh, and yeah, there's the "asshole" factor.

I wasn't getting much out of these witnesses. For a number of reasons: I was a woman, one. I was shorter than all of them. I was a cop in a place that was filled with people who have either been in prison or their loved ones were in. Oh, and I was white.

White, female cop in a place full of weary blacks. I might as well have worn bedsheets.

I finally struck a little luck with a boy/man who was all of six foot seven and two-fifty. He wore a red Taco Bell shirt and black pants. And he was hunched over, trying not be seen talking to me. Yeah, losing those three inches really help with invisibility.

"Hey, I just heard some people raise their voices, that's all," he said.

"Alright, can I get you're name and contact information, please?" I asked without hope.

"Look, lady, it ain't gonna do me any good to be seen talking to you," he said, "I can't have you snoopin' 'round my – hey, is that Coach T?"

Now that was unexpected, "Coach T-?"

"_Hey, Coach T!"_ Well, he certainly wasn't shy _now_.

To my surprise, I saw Trev come over and _smile_ a bit. Well, it was close to a smile, "Roberts, what are you doing here?"

"Buying a tree, Coach T," Roberts said.

"What did I say about that Devil's music?" he said.

"Sorry," Roberts said, "Hey, whattup dog, I thought you worked for the Navy?"

"_Naval _Criminal Investigative Service," he flashed his badge, "Roberts, Special Agent Caitlin Todd. Lyn, Mark Roberts, #51 Offensive Lineman, Lincoln High."

"It's nice to meet you," he said. Yep, he was all sunshine and lollipops now.

"So, you seen anything?" Trev asked.

"I heard some guys arguing with each other," Roberts said, "One of them had a deep voice, kinda like Bobbo's..."

"Coach Bobbo, baritones that you can hear from across the field," Trev said.

"What was the other voices like?"

"I don't know kinda weird, accented almost," Roberts said.

"Think you can pick out which accent?" Trev asked.

"Yep."

"Alright, I got a guy who's good with voices," Trev said, "I'm gonna want you to come down to my office, _at the Navy Yard_, and talk to him."

"Aww, man, do I have too?" Roberts complained.

"Yes, or I will make you do down-ups till your eyes bleed, and you will _still_ come down to my office."

Judging by the way Roberts paled, it was no idle threat.

* * *

><p><strong>Trev<strong>

"Operations Specialist Jeffery Omar," I said, "Worked in the Pentagon for the Joint Special Operations Combat Coordination Center-"

"How can you tell? It's redacted," Tony interrupted.

"It's for people with SCI Level 2 clearance instead of just Top Secret," I gloated.

"You called in a favor, didn't you?" Lyn said

"With Billy Jahn, it's always more of a trade," In this case, vintage _Juggs_ for that information. Ah, the ever powerful force that is porn... "It coordinates intel gathered in the field by JSOC teams so that nothing gets missed. In my day we just had a bull session," then again, those as often degenerated into bullshit sessions as they didn't... "It's classified for a reason. Off the top of my head, I got spies putting pressure for the intel, terrorists for identities of operators, lists of operations, complete with personnel lists," my voice cracked a bit on that one.

"We deal in fact, Trev, not theory," Gibbs said, "Priors."

"Grew up in the Heights," I read out of his jacket, "Extensive background check was given, found no gang affiliation, no police record, not even a speeding ticket before he joined the service. Then again, no car registrations until _after_ he joined the Navy. Guess not a lot of money growing up."

"Co-workers," Gibbs demanded.

"Four intelligence specialists, three from the Army and another from the Air Force," Tony said, "And not counting the plethora of classified operators from Delta Force. Both claimed that Petty Officer Omar was a diligent worker, polite, generally a nice guy."

"It's interesting how they are always either so nice that no one wants to harm them or such jackasses that everyone wants them dead," I observed. Tony pondered that a few seconds before nodding his agreement.

"Witness."

"Roberts is up in the conference room, awaiting Trev's 'voice specialist'," Lyn did a fine job of keeping her voice free of her skepticism. It was just an under layer of it, like chocolate in a fine wine.

"I sense you doubt my man's skills," I challenged.

"She shall doubt my skills no more," I heard from behind me.

"Hey, Willie, how's it going brother?" I greeted as we bro hugged, "Alright, Tony, Gibbs, Lyn, this is Major Ted 'Free Willie' McDonald, and no, he will not give you discounts on Big Macs."

"Seriously? You've been using that joke for over a decade now," Willie and me go way back. When I first met him, he was a scrawny academic who volunteered for the football team because it would look good on an Academy resume. Me and another friend, Deck, had played for the city in junior league since we were tots and did not take to kindly to what we perceived as a ticket puncher. So, I started teasing, and Deck started pantsing. It continued for a few weeks. Then, Little Teddy Bear conveniently "forgot" to wear underwear(and of course, Deck was a big enough trucker to pants him from the front with impunity) and "Willie was freed" right into Deck's face. The nickname stuck, and the three of us formed a regular gang of cahoots, though it was never proven in a court of law.

"Still is funny."

"No it's not," Willie lived up to his reputation. Rather put on a pair of civvies or cammies, like normal people, he dressed up in his Air Force Class As. Even as a teenager, he dressed more "professional" than the more blue-collar me and dirtbag Deck. He kept us honest. Or tried to, at least, "So, what help do you need? Identifying classified components to aircraft?"

"Nope."

"Intel on Afghan tribe movements?"

"We're investigators, not CIA," Tony said.

"So, what is it?" the former reconnaissance-turned-test pilot asked.

"Voices," I said, enjoying his falling face.

"No," he refused, shaking his head.

"No one does ventriloquism better than you," I reasoned.

"No!" he said, "Dude do you _know_ what it was like, doing that? Those dummies were always so _cold_."

"Please, you fly in planes that might blow up everyday, don't give me that," I know for _fact_ how cold it gets in the upper atmosphere. ICBM. China. Ruined roller coasters for me.

"No."

"Yes."

"No."

"Yes."

"No."

"Yes."

"Fine!"

Lyn looked pissed, "_Ventriloquism?_ That was your _plan_?"

"Dude, she honestly thinks that you can't do it," I challenged. If there is one thing that will make Willie move Heaven and Earth, is to prove to someone who doubts that he _can_ move Heaven and Earth.

"_How bad does it sound now?"_ he said in a perfect imitation of Lyn's voice. Even Gibbs looked stunned.

"How- huh?" was Lyn's only answer.

"Do Abby," I encouraged.

"_I'm gonna smack you._"

"It's unreal," Tony said.

"Spooky," Gibbs agreed.

"_Yeah_," now he switched to Gibbs' voice. You'd think he'd be pissed. He's just more creeped out now.

* * *

><p><strong>Kate<strong>

It was kinda of interesting. First, Trev being the language expert, asked him to identify the accent, which was Eastern European. Then he gave it to Major McDonald (I would ask Abby later how he knew him) who proceeded to recite the Gettysburg Address in the accent. Trev then instructed Robert to tell him whether raise the volume, pitch, or add anything else to the voice such as a rasp or lisp. Finally, we were left with a male from around Kiev("It the way he sounds the 'r's. Dead give away."), rasp caused by pack a day smoker, and even a script of the argument.

"Thanks Roberts," Trev said as he shook his hand.

"Hey, man it's no problem," Roberts said, "That old guy with the weird haircut? He's _scary_."

"I've been thinking about bringing him down to the field next year to help coach," For once Trev laughed. An actual laugh.

"Hey, man, not funny!"

I smiled all the way back to the squadroom.

"What do we got?" Gibbs demanded.

"Roberts managed to remember the entire conversation with Major McDonald's help," I said, "We suspect that Petty Officer Omar is the one with the deep voice, so it would seem that a male smoker from around Kiev wants something called the 'List'," I remembered how Trev's face darkened one iota for one second, "The smoker..." I looked expectantly at Tony, "I have yet to hear a single movie reference yet."

"Yeah," Gibbs said, "You okay?"

"I'm sorry," he actually looked apologetic, "I just- just _can't _find a single movie about a man who can mimic anyone's voice. It's got me, I just can't shake it."

"Stick with Ukranian Smoker," I advised.

"Well, in that case-"

I interrupted, "The Smoker references something called 'the price' in exchange for 'the list'. They argued about payment up front. By then Roberts had moved out of earshot."

"Ducky says cause of death was a stab wound to a major blood vessel, and he wants Trev to look at the body," Gibbs said.

"Ask the assassin to look at stab wounds?" Tony said, "Abby find anything?"

"She's running prints we found at the crime scene," Gibbs said, "She's had half a dozen hits through the NCIC database and FBI Gang Task Force. She's also running a cast Ducky made from the stab wounds aswell."

"If you think about it," Tony said, "Near perfect place to commit a murder.

"In a school?"

"In a school full of students and their gang-banger relatives here for the holidays," Tony said.

"Haven't you ever heard of compassion for those less fortunate for you?" I asked.

"It kinda goes out the window when you tackle a kid on crack then arrest his teacher for marijuana possession."

"Bad apples."

"It was a _middle school!_"

"_See a beautiful pair of NCIS Agents as they battle over their food, the silverback's approval,_" an incredibly good Croc Hunter impression said.

"That was impressive," Tony said to Major McDonald.

"Thank you."

"You still dating that showgirl?" Trev asked his friend.

"Sal happens to very nice," McDonald defended tiredly, as if(and they probably have) have had this conversation before, "And a very good cook."

"You're in it for the sex, aren't you?" Trev teased.

"Am not."

"Yeah, if you were in it for the sex she would be a stripper... oh dear lord," Trev latched on to the faint, very faint, slip in McDonald's calm mask, "She is a stripper, isn't she?"

"Hey!" Gibbs said, "Trev, Ducky wants to see you. Tony, get in touch with our vic's sister. Kate , with me, we're going to the victim's apartment."

"You need another set of hands, Agent Gibbs?" McDonald offered.

"Just because you're a third year law student-"

"Grab a desk."

"Damn!"

"Yes!"

Those two must have known each other since they were in diapers.

* * *

><p><strong>Trev<strong>

"Smith & Wesson HRT Badge knife, serrated blade," I said as I finished examining the knife wound.

"Impressive, but how can you be sure without seeing the mold?" Ducky asked.

"It's the way the wound tract curves, which means that that angle of the blade has to be pretty radical," I pointed out, "There's some pretty sharp tearing in on the inside of the curve, so there is serration. Also, the way the blade entered is pretty distinctive. It starts out straighter then proceeds to curve, almost like a hook, which means the handle has to be weird. So, the inside curve means karambit blade, serrated, weird but comfortable grip. Smith & Wesson HRT Badge Knife. I got one at my apartment, if you want to see."

"No, I'm sure Abby will confirm you're hypothesis," Ducky said, "What about the wound itself?"

"Knife cut the aorta clean," I said, "blade came up at an upward angle, with the radical curve keeping the blood from spraying out so it looked like he cut a vein instead of the largest artery in the body. Guy's either lucky or..."

"Very good at stabbing people?" Ducky said as if he expected all along.

"It's why you asked for my consultation."

"You sound unhappy, my dear boy."

"Not at you," I sighed, "I know exactly what type of person this is. My grandfather taught me how to do an upward stab like this when I was a kid. And his father had taught him before that, and his father before that."

"Family Traditions."

"Some had game night, we had lessons on how to disable an opponent," I said, "Weirdly, it worked. Me and my siblings had never been closer. Not even now."

"So you believe a Trevodur did this," Ducky said.

"It's our thing!" I snapped, "This style of stabbing somebody, it's been taught in my family for generations!"

"For how long?"

"My great-great-grandparents had taught it to my great-grandpa and _his_ siblings when they fled the Reds," I remembered that they had become share-croppers in the South. I always envied them a bit. They never fought another war and lived to ripe old age. Of my six uncles, only one had lived past forty. My grandfather buried most of his sons and more than a few of his grandsons. We Trevodurs don't live long.

"And what about before? I mean, surely _they_ had siblings and cousins before they left."

"My grandfather has a family tree," I said, "I'll see if he'll agree to send over a copy."

"You might want to run that by Gibbs first," Ducky advised.

"Will do."

* * *

><p><strong>Abby<strong>

"Well, if it isn't the fetching Abby Sciuto," I heard behind me.

"If it isn't the dashing Ted McDonald," I said. Sure enough, there he was, dashing as ever in his Class As, "Do you always have to wear a suit?"

"If I didn't wear the suit I wouldn't be dashing now, would I?"

I laughed, "So, I heard that Trev needed you to do that weird voice ting you do."

"Weird?" he chuckled, "You thought it was neat before," before means in the bayous of Louisiana. We were both visiting relatives. An agreeable pastime, agreeably ended.

"Times change," I said.

"Oh, don't tell me that the Babe of the Bayou is in a committed relationship."

"Not committed," damn word, "Just, interesting."

"Isn't that exactly how you described our relationship?"

"Hey, what happens in the bayou stays in the bayou."

"Good because I'm pretty sure some of that stuff is illegal," he got a good chuckle at that.

"You're horrible," I laughed too.

He finished his laugh and say, "You gotta hit."

I groaned and looked at the screen, "And yet another petty crook."

"Battery, Breaking and Entering, and grand-theft auto is petty?" he asked.

I handed him printed rap sheets for a dozen other hits, "When they keep this company, that's petty."

"Huh," he said, "I got no plans for Christmas, so I volunteered to help out."

"You're not visiting Marge and Jorge?"

"Paris, France," he said, "Planned to go there on their honeymoon before some complications came up."

"Gift from Trev, huh?" Abby asked.

"Say what you will about my friend, he is a _good_ gift giver," Ted said.

"I'll say," I said, "You know he's gotten a _General _to give Major Mass Spec a promotion?"

"Who?"

"A general, Marine Gen-"

"No, Major Maspec?"

"Oh!" she turned and showed him her baby, "The Major Mass Spectrometer is a variation of static-"

"Okay, Abby, I don't build or repair the planes, I just fly them," Ted said.

"No excuse," we had long ago had this argument over whether you could use a machine without at least a basic understanding of how it works. And he was a test pilot.

"I'm not getting into that with you again," Ted said.

"Getting into what?" Trev demanded as he entered the room.

"Hey Trev do you think you have to know how a bomb works _precisely_ to use one?" Ted asked.

"Willie," Trev began, "I'm a chemist specializing in explosives. Of course I _have_ to know _precisely_ how the bomb works. Otherwise, what the hell did I pay all that money for?"

"You remember that episode of _Seinfeld _where Jerry bought a car for his dad, bought it back after he realized his parents didn't want it?"

"Yeah, Cadillac Fleetwood," I said.

"You bought a Caddy, gave it to me, found out I hate Caddies-"

"My soul dies little bit each time you say that."

"Noted. Anyway, you buy it _back_, give it to Deck, then you realized you just gave _Deck_ a vintage Caddy, and then you buy it back _again_ at _twice _the original price."

"I don't see you're point."

"I've just made it."

"How long have you been rich?" I demanded.

"He did this last week."

"What was the original point?"

"That you don't care about money."

"I so do care about money!" he said indignantly, "If I don't have a lot of money, how can I buy all of my weapons?"

"Why are you here?" Abby asked.

"Notice how it took me this long to get to this," Trev said, "Abby, do you think you could expand the search to include that from Russia?"

"You know that I can't access foreign databases right?"

"If I can get you access to those databases, you think you can run them?"

"You're gonna convince the Russians to let me, an American, to access their database?" I scoffed, "If you can, I can."

"Good, I'll also see if I can get the British and the Germans to cooperate as well."

"Any link?"

"Just my gut."

**PLEASE REVIEW!**


	11. WINTER TREE, Part 2

**Trev**

"Okay, I got the British and Germans to open their databases for us," I said. We were all in Abby's lab, awaiting the rest of the fingerprint results.

"You got that done with a phone call?" Gibbs asked.

"Pulled a few favors," I explained. I would need to take a shower later. I hated working with those entitled, snotty, Oxford-grad, old-boy pricks at MI6. The BND was another story, however.

"What about the Russians?" Abby asked.

"Considering that the FSB has a death order out on me if I ever enter Russia without their permission first," I said, "They're not willing to be charitable."

"DiNozzo," Gibbs demanded.

"I tried the sister's work, home, even managed to find private cell phone, no answer on either," Tony said, "I put a call into NYPD, see if they can stop by her residence, but they're not in any hurry."

"Trev, you still got that friend in the NYPD?" Gibbs asked.

"Please, Kate Beckett and Mike Royce are almost family," I said, "I'll see if I can organize for a little voice to call out 'help meeeeee', when they reach the residence."

"You've been working on that Little Voice thing," Willie said.

"Thank you."

"Kate, talk to the victim's coworkers again," Gibbs ordered, "I want his daily schedule. DiNozzo, McDonald, neighbors, coffeemaker, anyone he saw on a daily basis that does not involve work. Trev, my office."

That doesn't sound good. Mentally counted my sins as I headed to the elevator, closely following Gibbs. When the elevator doors closed and he hit the emergency stop button (It's the reason why I only took the stairs) and turned to me.

"You okay?"

That was unexpected, "Just working the case, Boss."

"You never call me 'Boss'."

"Things change," I said.

"It was you're idea to open up the investigation to the British and the Germans," Gibbs said, "Your reason was a 'gut feeling'."

"You get them all the time."

"But not you," Gibbs said, "You get hunches, you have reasons for making the decisions you do."

"You know that the stab wounds are consistent with what has been taught in my family," I said.

"Then educate me on your family history," he ordered.

I took a deep breath, "We were part of the royal family in some distant way, Russian aristocracy. Because of this, when Lenin took over, my great-great-grandfather and his two brothers fled. My grandfather came here. His two brothers fled to Germany and Britain."

"You're looking to see if one of your relatives from out of country," Gibbs said.

"Problem is I don't know the last name of the family from before we came to the States," I said.

He flicked the switch again, restoring movement to the elevator, "Find out."

* * *

><p><strong>Kate<strong>

"Thank you, Sergeant," I said as he exited the conference room. It was the last of the Intelligence specialists that Petty Officer Omar worked with. I learned one thing for certain.

_Never expect Intelligence specialists to give you just what you are looking for. They always give you sooooooo much more._

I would spend rest of the day going over my notes. On the plus side, I had a new lead we could follow.

"Petty Officer Omar had a girlfriend," I said as I entered the bullpen, "His coworkers didn't know who she was, but they caught him making a personal call at work."

"Only reason you keep a girlfriend a secret from buddies like that is if it's someone you could get in trouble for being with," Trev said.

"This isn't _Romeo and Juliet_, and the Montagues and the Capulets have been at peace for a while," I pointed out.

"No, Trev's right," Gibbs said, "He's breaking the rules."

"Foreigner," Major McDonald said, "When you work with Top Secret projects, like Intelligence Specialists, there are some rules you have to follow. Things like dating foreigners, for example."

"Technically, only CIA has written down rules about that behavior," Trev said, "But it doesn't need to be written."

"Yeah, Jon here knows all about-"

"Willie," Trev warned. My interest was piqued.

"I'll check his phone records, see if I can track her down," I said.

"I'm busy trying to see if I can get FSB to send their DC rep down here for a sit down to see if I can convince them to open their fingerprint ID system to us," Trev said.

"Tony is down with Abby, we found a place where the victim liked to eat with a lady, late twenties, early thirties, black hair, accent. Always paid in cash, but we managed to get them on video. Seeing if we can improve image quality. I'm pulling call history, see if I can track her down," Willie said.

"Kate, work with Major McDonald," Gibbs ordered, "Trev, get me access to the Russian database.

"Working on-" he was interrupted by his phone, "Trev... _Previt... khah rah SHOH..."_ he continued in Russian.

Something was off, though. I've heard Trev speak Russian. When he does, he usually sounds more... excited than this. Happier. It's like he's been dreading this conversation.

And then I see him pale. Like he's just heard something he's been dreading, "_Ubiistov?"_ he said. He continued his conversation for another minute before hanging up the phone, obviously shaken.

"You okay?" I asked.

He gulped, "Fine."

I looked at Willie. He looked suspicious too, but he mouther "_Later_".

Trev picked up his phone again and dialed. He said, "This is Agent Trevodur, NCIS, I need to speak with the FSB representative. Tell her it's about the Ubiistov crime family," he waited, "Agent Aristova? I'd like access to your database.

* * *

><p><strong>Trev<strong>

Agent Darya Aristova was about five-eight, with her really pale skin contrasting with her very dark hair. She spoke with the typical Russian accent accented by her typical Russian smokers rasp.

"You think your killer is Ubiistov?" she asked.

"I have a hunch," I said, sipping my coffee. We were in the break room, enjoying a warming cup of coffee. At least, I was. She couldn't enjoy coffee without one of those unfiltered Russian nasty cigarettes.

"I will need more than hunch," she demanded. At one time I would have found the accent a turn-on. Now, though, I let foreign women no access.

"You're gonna go with a hunch because you've cut your teeth in organized crime in St Petersburg. Then again in Moscow," I said, "You've seen what the Ubiistov's have done' if you can get at them in _any_ way, you will leap at the chance."

"You sound confident," she said.

"Because I am."

She mulled it over, "Fine, but if he's a member of family, he extradited back to the Federation."

"And if he's a soldier?"

"Keep him," she said, "We do not need another of their soldiers in our prisons."

"Deal," I said, "Time to meet our forensic scientist."

**Abby's Lab**

"This vaunted American Forensic Scientist?" she asked as she entered the lab, "This is CSI Lab?"

"We are _not_ CSIs," me and Tony said.

"Just give her the access codes to the FSB Fingerprint Database," I said.

"Hi," Abby said, "you must be the FSB rep here in DC. I'm Abby. What's Russia like? I've always wanted to see St Basil's cathedral. It seems really cool and neat with it's strange architecture..."

"It like she punches me with words," Darya said. It was the most accurate way I could describe it.

"This is Abby Scuito," I said, "Abby!"

That stopped her, "Right, FSB database," she quickly pulled up the login screen.

Darya looked at the keyboard uncertainly, "Alphabet is-"

"Is not Cyrillic," I finished, "Abby?" she quickly pulled up an on-screen Cyrillic keyboard. Darya thanked her and input her password.

"You have access to the Federation's fingerprint system," she said, "I need a smoke."

"How long until we get a match?" I asked.

"Not long, three, four hours," she said.

"Four hours?" Abby scoffed, "Our own system takes twelve."

"We have more servers."

"It's true," I said, "Pieces of shit, but a lot of pieces of shit."

"Are you insulting our computers?"

"Yes I am."

"Good, you are not fool."

"I still don't think we will find a match within four hours," as the words left her mouth, her computer dinged, "Say anything, I kill you and leave forensic evidence."

"Is she serious?" Darya asked.

"We've never been able to tell," Tony said. Oddly, he was keeping a distance that was unusual for him. I don't think he trusted Aristova. Good. Neither did I.

Abby stared at the file in confusion. It was written in Russian. She couldn't even pronounce the words. I translated, "Teras Petrovich Androv. Served two years in Russian juvie , released as a twelve year old. According to his- I'd guess you'd call it parole officer- he's been working as a clerk at a local business that has no ties to the mafia."

"He is soldier for Ubiistovs," Aristova said, "How you say, signs match, no?"

"How do you figure?" Tony said.

"Ubiistovs like to recruit from young orphans," Aristova said, "Send to school, give education, creates loyalty to the family. During schooling, they... educate, I think you say, teach how to accomplish their tasks."

"When I was working in Russia, I learned quick that Ubiistov soldiers could freakin shoot," I said.

"So, shooting, murder, enforcement," Tony said.

"Ubiistov is small, but it controls half of Moscow and and a large area in St Petersburg," I said.

"I had informant, he said that large shipments are coming to America," Aristova said, "It may be that Ubiistov's are trying to create foothold in America."

"Not a happy thought," I said, "Alright, he's a soldier, which means he's our problem. I'll escort you out, Agent Aristova."

"It was pleasure to meet you all," she said on our way out.

* * *

><p><strong>Major Theodore T. McDonald, USAF<strong>

"Three calls in the past week to a prepaid cell phone, under the name 'Scarlett O'Hara," I said, "Foreign lady who likes _Gone with the Wind_, where have you been all my life?"

"I thought you couldn't date foreign girls," Kate said.

"Doesn't mean I can't fantasize," I said, "Any way to trace it?"

"If she paid with a credit card, maybe," she said.

"What about these?" I asked, highlighting a residential number, "occurs maybe once every month going as far back as last year. Last about an hour, too."

"Hmm," she said, deep in thought, "Good call, I'll look into it."

_"McDonald," _I froze. I _know_ that voice.

Kate tried to look up. I stopped her, "Maybe if we just ignore her, she'll just go away," I whispered. She looked at me like I was crazy.

_"I now you hear me, McDonald."_

Damn. Time to face the music... and the mother of Jon's child.

"Hi, Alyssa..."

**PLEASE REVIEW!**


	12. WINTER TREE, Part 3

**Kate**

It's just not fair.

Trev had told me a little about his ex-girlfriend. Mainly, that she was crazy, that they couldn't stand each-other, and that the sex was "crazy-hate-awesome". What he failed to mention was that she was _beautiful_. So beautiful that it wasn't fair, you just wanted to slap her. Every head in the bar would turn to her if she walked in. Her skin was alabaster pale with a hint of blush from the frigid winter air, and her black hair somehow seemed to warm it. Her eyes were crystal blue, a perfect contrast to Trev's hard green. And her clothes screamed _designer_, white winter coat over a blue designer suit, which perfectly complimented her skin.

I hated her instantly.

"Where is he McDonald?" she demanded.

"Um, maybe breaking down doors?" I noticed Major McDonald carefully put distance between them. Like he was afraid of her.

"Ma'am, I'm going to have to ask-" the accompanying agent began.

"Sh!" she said to him, "I'm looking for Agent Trevodur. Failing that, I'll be happy to tear Agent Gibbs a new- he's right behind me, isn't he?"

"I got five on the chick, three-to-one odds," McDonald offered.

"You're on," I accepted.

"You must be Alyssa Stenson," Gibbs said, coffee in hand, "Trev's ex-girlfriend."

"Leroy Jethro Gibbs," she sized him up, looking for all the world like she could beat him up. Considering the fact that she is the mother of Trev's child, and Trev's paranoia, and the fact that I am sore every Wednesday because Trev teaches hand-to-hand every Tuesday, it would certainly last more than ten seconds, "Trev's boss."

"Anything I can do for you, Ms Stenson?" Gibbs offered.

"I'm just here to deliver a message," she smiled was predatory, "Tell Trev that he'd better be at my table, Christmas Eve, six pm sharp, dressed in that sweater I got him, or so help me I'll drive my Hummer over his beloved Charger. Okay?" something about her reminded me of all the mean girls I have ever met. Except that she was scarier. She was smarter

"He's working a case," Gibbs said.

"The case better be over with or I'll drive my Hummer through _your_ house, okay?" she threatened with a smile.

Gibbs blinked, "Ruin a perfectly good Hummer, I'll assume."

"It'll be worth it," she said. Suddenly those eyes turned to me, "Are you sleeping with Jon?"

"What? No!" now my slight fright turned to anger. How dare she?

"Good, it's like climbing Everest- amazing, but hazardous to your health," she turned and left me standing their speechless.

Mean girl.

"Trev had sex with-with _that_?" I asked Major McDonald.

"She used to be a lot nicer, back in high school," McDonald defended.

"They usually are," Gibbs said.

"Sorry that you had to see that," McDonald apologized.

Gibbs shrugged, "She reminds me of my ex-wife."

"Which one?" I asked.

"All of them," he replied, "What'd you got?"

* * *

><p><strong>Trev <strong>

"Trev," I said into my phone.

"_Hey, Jon,_" I heard Kate's (Beckett) voice on the other end, "_We're here at the apartment of __Sheila Omar, she's not home."_

"It's about 2000 in New York, right?"

"_Same as DC," _she replied, "_I see no sign of foul play. She may just be visiting friends or family for the holidays."_

"How tall is the apartment?" I asked.

_"About seven stories."_

"Loading dock?"

_"Yeah. What are you thinking?"_

"Can you check the logs to see if anyone was delivering or shipping something big, like a freezer or a box?"

_"What are you thinking?"_

"I'm thinking that's how I would kidnap someone."

_"Have I ever told you that someday, I am probably going to have to arrest you?"_

"I'm surprised you haven't already," I said as I exited the elevator, "I'll talk to you later Kate."

Lyn must have overheard me and said, "I'm right here."

"Kate Beckett, not Kate Todd," I clarified, "My source in NYPD tells me that there is no sign of struggle in Sheila Omar's apartment, the victim's sister. Now, I managed to convince the Rooskies to open their fingerprint database to us and we got a match. A soldier for Ubiistov crime family, Teras Petrovich Androv. I'll check with Interpol and Immigration, see if he's here legally and see if there is anything that the Russians missed."

"Kate."

"Major McDonald and I found a number he called three times a month, but it was a burn phone," she said, "Oddly enough, it was the most frequent call to the same number he made."

"Maybe he liked handwritten sentiments," I said.

"He also called a number once a month that lasted for a while," Kate said, "I'm working on narrowing it down."

"Tony and Abby are still trying to clean up the video of the victim's girlfriend," I said, "I'm not really sure how a tech-phobe like Tony is helping with that, but if was doing nothing Abby would have kicked him out long ago."

"Too right you are, Trev," Tony said as he entered the bullpen, Abby in tow, "I was calling in favors from a friend in INS, see if a Teras Androv had entered the country. No luck, and the photo on his arrest record is from when he was ten."

"I couldn't wait for you to come down," Abby said, bouncing like she was nearing The Record, "Okay, so I tweaked the contrast, and did a reorganization algorithm-"

"For those of us without a degree in computer engineering," I said,

"I cleaned up the image," she tapped a few keys in my computer, bringing up a cleaned image of a restaurant, our vic sitting across the table of a very familiar looking woman.

"Agent Aristova," I said, "If she get's to the embassy, there's nothing we can do."

"DiNozzo, Trev, go get her," Gibbs commanded as he threw me the keys.

* * *

><p><strong>Tony<strong>

I WANT TO LIIIIIIIIIIIIIVE!

* * *

><p><strong>Kate<strong>

I watched through the observation window as Aristova ranted at us in Russian, "What is she saying?"

"She seems to have done a lot of stuff to our mothers," Trev replied, "It's pretty good stuff."

"Deck-good?" McDonald asked, which I didn't understand.

Trev saw my look and explained, "Another buddy of mine from high school. And no, close to Deck-speak but no there. It lacks... _flair_."

"You're the Russian speaker," McDonald acquiesced, "Alyssa showed up today."

"She what?" the look on Trev's face was akin to that of a deer in a van's headlights.

"She said that if you don't make her Christmas dinner she's gonna run over your Charger," I said.

"You were there?" The van turned into a semi.

"How could you sleep with _that?_" I demanded.

"I was drunk!"

"Drinking only lowers inhibitions!" I said, "If you didn't want to sleep with her, you wouldn't have!"

"I don't know if you've noticed, but she is _hot!"_ he argued, "Like, even _the-girls-in-the-bar-think- "Yeah, I'd do her"-hot!"_

"And that is your criteria?"

"No! I also have I would like for her father to _not_ shoot at me with a shotgun!"

"Didn't her father do that?" McDonald asked

"_Stay out of this!"_ we snapped at him.

"I used to respect you more than Tony because I thought you had taste!"

"Well let me tell you something, missy! I am a bigger man-whore than Tony could ever hope to be!"

"And that is something to be proud of?"

"Yes! No!"

"Okay, now even _she _is listening," McDonald pointed out. Aristova had stopped her rant and was now listening intently.

"Oh, so _you're _the one with all the taste!"

"Yes I am!"

"Really?"

"Really!" I said, "In fact, I have so much taste, before you date any girl, you should come to me first!"

"Really?"

"Really!"

"Fine!"

"Fine!"

"This is better than _Shark Week_," McDonald observed.

* * *

><p><strong>Gibbs<strong>

They say there is more than one way to divorce a wife. Kate and Trev's little argument had thrown the subject off kilter. Saved time. Now that she's distracted, I don't have to let her stew.

I entered the room loudly, causing her to jump. Her mind was going into fight-or-flight mode. Indecisive. Exactly where I want her.

"You cannot do this. I have diplomatic immunity!" Aristova claimed.

"Which only covers parking tickets," I said, "Not espionage," I pulled the damning still from my folder.

She picked up the photo, "What does this prove? That I have relationship with American sailor?"

"It proves that not only are you breaking our rules, but _yours_ too," he said, "Cooperate, we charge you with espionage. Max sentence is life in prison."

"Diplomatic immunity," she challenged. Fight, then, "You cannot touch me," she got up to leave.

"If you don't, we give this to the FSB and _they_ charge you with _treason_," that stopped her. Her already pale skin paled further. The gangs controlled the prisons. No FSB officer had ever survived more than a few weeks in prison, "Here, maybe Guantanamo. Maybe a supermax. Point is, you don't have to deal with all of the gang-bangers you put away."

I saw her hyperventilate. She was grasping at straws. She said hurridly, "I give you the Ubiistovs. I had friendship with Jeffery. I found out he worked in Pentagon. The Ubiistov's broke into my apartment, threatened to kill me because I imprisoned three of their family members, unless I gave them a file about an American operation in Panama called WINTER TREE."

"You have files on our operations?" Gibbs asked.

"We still have contacts in Latin America left over from Cold War," she said, "But our intelligence only picked up on the fact that you had an operation around the same time as the date on the for the operation they gave me. You operatives slipped through our fingers. I go to friend, former Alfa group, in FSB for help. He is killed the next day. They threaten to kill me, and I tell them about Jeffery, and his job in Pentagon."

"Where is this file?" I asked.

"I don't know!" she exclaimed, frantic, "I was go-between for the Ubiistovs and Jeffery. I was planning on running, but they found me, demanded I help them find the file. I was going to run again when your _Durak_ agent almost ran me off the road!"

_Durak_ is a very offensive way of saying _asshole_, "You're gonna have-"

A knock at the door and Trev entered, "Gibbs. A word?"

I kept my face neutral, masking the anger I felt. Especially to Trev. He's done interrogation before. He knows not to interrupt. If this isn't good...

"What?" I demanded.

"My source at NYPD called," he said. I noticed that he looked paler, and his voice and face were neutral. He was more than worried. He was _scared_. And not of me, either, "They suspect that Sheila Omar has been kidnapped. They got a hostage, boss."

That was worthy of interrupting. I asked, "You okay?"

"That operation, WINTER TREE?" he said, "I was in it. My full name, rank, and serial number was in it. If they have that, they can find me. And my daughter."

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	13. WINTER TREE, Part 4

**Gibbs**

I let Trev take over. I looked at the subject from behind the window. Trev entered quietly, almost unobtrusively, as if he was intruding upon a private moment. I've seen his "style" which he tailored to the subject, vary from loud and frightening, to so friendly you'd think they were drinking buddies.

This time he settled in front of Aristova and breathed deeply through his nose, "Close your eyes, please," he said politely.

"What?" the subject said. She looked exhausted.

"Close your eyes," he repeated, sounding for all the world like a patient school teacher, "_Zakroĭte glaza , pozhaluĭsta,"_ he repeated in flawless St Petersburg socialite Russian.

She complied. He explained what he was going to do. He was going to ask a question. She would answer honestly and quickly. He kept his voice pleasant and patient, the Russian dripping like honey and ringing in your ears.

He asked her how the Ubiistovs contacted her. She said that they ambushed her in her home. He reassured her that she was safe when she began to panic a bit.

"What's he doing, Boss?" Tony asked.

"It's called the 'Hand-hold'," I explained, "Speak softly, let them lead you to what you want to know."

He asked if they took her anywhere. She replied no. he asked if she had seen their car. She said yes. He asked her to take a mental picture of the car and tell him whatever she noticed. She noted dark color. A manufacture symbol that looked like and M. And the first three numbers on the license plate were 5K7.

"DiNozzo," I said, "Put out a BOLO, dark colored Mazda, license plate begins with 5-Kilo-7."

"On it, Boss," he said as he pulled out his cell.

He asked her what the meetings were like. She described them in detail. She began to get panicked and asked for a cigarette. Trev reached into his pocket and pulled a gunmetal gray cylinder. He opened one end and pulled out a cigarette and gave it to her, lighting it up with a silver Zippo.

He'd better get something from making my interrogation room smell like cigarette. And now the asshole is lighting up to.

"I didn't know Trev smoked," Kate said.

"Not often. He actually _can_ quit anytime he wants," McDonald said.

"If he doesn't get anything useful..." I said.

He asked her to describe these meetings. So far, Trev's ass was mine. Then he asked her if they ever called her. She said. Yes. He asked her to describe the call, starting with how she answered. She had first looked at the caller ID. 202-555-4879. He asked her to describe the phone call. Tone. Background. He began to change how he spoke. He clicked his tongue softly before some words, and other sounds effects that were barely perceptible. It was risky. Manipulating the subject like this could create a false memory.

Suddenly her eyes snapped open, "Train. I hear train."

* * *

><p><strong>Trev<strong>

"We tracked down the phone number to a pay phone in the Twinbrook Metro station," I said, "I already called Bethesda PD and told them to focus on that area. Am I still dead for lighting up in interrogation?"

"If this doesn't pan out you are," Gibbs said, "What are you doing with your family?"

"I sent Willie to pick up Alyssa and Jen and bring them here," I said.

Lyn nudged me gently, "There going to be-"

"My name is on a document confirming me as someone who hunted terrorists," I growled, "Do _not_ tell me everything is going to be all right."

To her credit she said nothing. Good. I was in no mood for platitudes.

"Rerun your leads," Gibbs ordered, "Trev, introduce Tony to your contacts in the NYPD, have them give us as much information on Petty Officer Omar's sister as they can. Any evidence, I want to know about it before it's logged."

"Got it, Gibbs."

"Kate, build me a profile on Androv," Gibbs ordered

"Yes, Gibbs."

"Trev, read us in on WINTER TREE."

"I can't."

"Why not?"

"You don't have the clearance."

"We have _Top Secret Clearance!_" now he sounded angry.

"You do," I acceded, "_They_ don't," I pointed at my recently arrived ex and daughter.

Let Hell begin.

"What's with the video camera?" I asked Willie.

"America's Funniest Home Videos."

"I want half the profits."

"Done."  
>Alyssa looked pissed, "Too afraid to come get me yourself? You send you <em>goon<em> after me?"

Willie looked properly insulted, "_Goon?_ I got a BA Physics, I'm too educated to be a _goon_."

She was still twelve pounds of piping hot(not that way!) fury, "I don't know if you know this, but it's seven AM Christmas Eve," Really? Wow, we've been working throughout the night, "We have _eleven hours_ until my Christmas Eve dinner!"

"Really? Russian gangsters might be after you and you are worried about your butterball?"

"I take pride in my slow-cooked turkey," she growled.

Jenny, who had been sleeping peacefully, started to moan. It was the kind of moan that, if not handled carefully, could turn into a full blown all nighter cry-attack. I was intimately familiar with those. Alyssa glared at me like it was my fault, despite my heartfelt attempt at keeping them safe. Why do the mothers of your child always insist on being unreasonable?

She lifted Jenny out of her baby carrier and settled her on her hip, gently bouncing her and making cooing sounds. She continued to moan. I shot her The Look.

"No," she glared at me and shook her head. Jen continued to moan. I continued with the Look. She relented, "Fine."  
>She maneuvered Jenny so that she could see me. I cleared my throat:<p>

"_I like Big Butts and I cannot lie!"_

I started to do the dance, as seen on_ Friends_, and continued to sing to Sir-Mix-Alot. I heard Lyn's pencil and Tony's phone hit the floor. I saw Gibbs looking incredibly amused in the corner of my eye. Jen immediately stopped crying and began to giggle.

I must have been good, because a little crowd of those few of us doomed souls working on Christmas Eve began to form. Most of them looked amused. We brought down the house when DiNozzo joined me and we began to do a duet.

We got the call about a hit on our BOLO as we were finishing up. Warehouse two blocks from Twinbrook station. I took one more look at my daughter's giggling face before I grabbed my weapon. Alyssa kissed me on the cheek before I headed to the elevator.

* * *

><p><strong>Kate<strong>

Unlike the rest of us, Trev didn't use a 9mm SIG Saur. He had a .45 SIG Saur today. Day before he had a .357 Magnum revolver. He also brought with him other toys.

"MP5K-PDW, to Secret Service," I'm not sure which nickname I dislike more: Secret Service or Lyn, "DiNozzo, think you can handle a Colt Commando?"

"Carried one in my squadcar when I worked Organized Crime," Tony replied.

"Gibbs, Mossberg," he handed Gibbs the shotgun.

Gibbs loaded the weapon and turned to the Tactical Response Team(NCIS's form of SWAT), "Axelrod, you and your team breach the east entrance. We will take west. Trev, roof."

"On it, Gibbs," Trev started for the warehouse. He was armed only with his sidearm, and extra magazine, a vest, and a knife.

"Wait for my signal to breach," Gibbs said.

"I can't believe that Trev brings this much explosives with him in his car," I muttered as I picked up a "hockeypuck" of coiled det cord. At least he kept them carefully labeled as to how much det cord he had, plus the doors it was designed to take down.

"Trev's Recon, Kate," Gibbs explained, "Paranoia is in his blood."

"Does he have permits for these?" I asked.

"Actually, yeah," Tony said, "If they are legal, however, is another story..."

"Axelrod, you and your men in position?" Gibbs asked into his mike.

"_Yes, Gibbs."_

"Trev, you ready?"

"_Give me another thirty seconds._"

"Get into position and hold," he ordered, "Let's go."

We kept our heads on a swivel as we crossed the street. I gulped. I drew short straw and was designated "breacher", possibly the hardest job of clearing a room. I would be first through the door. First target. I did have a single flashbang grenade. I would have to time the breach perfectly with my toss. To early, and the grenade would hit the door and bounce back. Too late, and it would go off as I entered. As an added bonus, if Trev messed up on his math, or if I had grabbed the wrong charge, could seriously injure myself as I set of the charge.

I had done this before at FLETC. It was more of an introductory course taught by FBI's Hostage Rescue Team. And that was years ago.

I began to break out in sweat despite the snow filled air. My heart was hammering. My palms were sweating. My only solace was the fact that Trev gave me a weapon I was intimately familiar with. I had spent most of the time in the Secret Service with the MP5K under my coat. I knew this weapon.

I ducked as I heard a shot in the distance.

"_SHIT! They know we're here, Gibbs!"_

"_Agent Down! Agent Down!"_

_ "Were is he?"_

My ear began to hurt with all the panicking voices flooding it. I heard the TRT return fire. But one voice, cold enough to freeze blood, said, "_I got him."_

I heard one shot, a handgun, and Tev said, "_Axelrod, I got him."_

_ "Axelrod's been hit!"_

"Get out of there!" Gibbs ordered, "Kate, breach, now!"

I pulled off the adhesive side of the hockeypuck and slapped it in the center of the door. I pulled the tab that lit the fuse and pulled the pin on my grenade and flipped the spoon off.

Trev's math must have been good, because the door blew inward into a million pieces. I threw the grenade in and it exploded immediately. First part: done. Second part: don't die.

I moved through the door, turning left as I did so. Tony came up behind me and turned right. Gibbs brought up the middle.

I saw one man with a gun. I fired and put him down. I felt a bullet whizz past my head. I ducked and kept my focus on my filed of fire. I felt more bullets whizz past me. They were coming from my left. I ducked behind a crate and felt the bullets splinter the wood.

I wait for the bullets to stop firing. I heard someone shouting in Russian. I peek out of cover with my weapon ready. I ducked behind it again as he fired twice from an AK. I ducked back behind cover.

Silence.

Shit, these guys were smart. They had managed to pin us down. If we popped up they would shoot us. If we stayed down we couldn't shoot without risking shooting the hostage. We could wait for reinforcements, but by the time they arrived, they might be gone. And Sheila Omar with them.

"_I got them._"

I heard glass breaking and the _loud _rapport of Trev's .45. I peaked from cover and couldn't believe my eyes.

_Since when could Trev fly?_

My mind snapped back when I saw another gunman firing at Tony. I shot him and moved from my cover. There was an aisle of plastic wrapped whatever to my left. I turned down it. No one. I shouted, "AISLE 1 LEFT, CLEAR!"

I spoke too soon. What felt like a mountain slammed into me. My weapon dropped. My assailant tried to grab it. I kicked it away from both of us. I clawed for my SIG Saur. He grabbed my wrist and elbow. He attempted a push-pull to break my arm. I stepped to his side and aimed a punch at the junction between his jaw and skull, something Trev taught me. He ducked, looped his arm around my leg, and flipped me.

I don't know how I did it, but I managed to put an iron lock on his arm and dragged him to the ground with me. Still, the fall winded me. I tried to put him in an arm bar, but he twisted out of it and mounted me. He punched me in the face. I saw stars. I reflexively shot my hands forward and clawed. I think I got his eyes. I felt his ands fall on my chin and the back of my head. He was going to try and break my neck.

I grabbed the hand on my chin and pushed it away. It took most of the strength of both of my arms to fight one of his. It is then that I got my first look at him.

He had bright, hard green eyes. He and Trev could have been brothers.

I managed to scoot forward and knee him in the crotch. He grabbed my knee between his legs. But it messed up his center of gravity enough for me to roll him. He still had his legs around my waist, but at least I wasn't under him anymore.

I punched him in the face, and felt sweet revenge as I felt my fist connect with his face. And then I felt something what made my blood run cold.

He had my knife.

He flicked the blade open. I grabbed his wrist with both hands, struggling to keep the blade away from me. His other hand reached behind my neck and tried to pull me to the blade.

I felt my body slowly inch toward my deadly blade.

I thought I was a goner until I saw the top of his skull be blown open. His arms went slack and my knife skittered on the floor. I looked up and saw Trev, bloody and on one knee, his weapon smoking.

* * *

><p>"Damn fool," Alyssa chided as Trev settled down into his seat, "You just had to use the fire hose to swing down like Indiana Jones."<p>

"I did something similar when I was in JSOC," he grunted. Half his face was black and blue from landing on a crate the wrong way after shooting the fire hose he was attached to, along with a broken ankle, "Still, it wasn't one of my better ideas."

"Tell you what," Gibbs said, "If you didn't distract them with that stunt, we probably wouldn't be here."

"Chalk that up to being too crazy for my own good," He said.

"I hear Morrow's recommending you for the Presidential Medal of Freedom," Tony said.

"I'll tell Bush that he can keep the medal," Trev said, "I don't need the publicity."

"I don't like it when you guys go out and risk your lives,"Abby said.

"Abby, my life will suck no matter what I do," Trev said.

"You should rest, my dear boy," Ducky chided.

"I'm fine," he protested, "Secret Service, lead us in prayer so I can get out of this stupid sweater sooner."

I laughed a bit. He was wearing a gaudy red Christmas sweater that did not flatter him. Alyssa made him wear it.

I bowed my head and joined hands with Gibbs on my left and Abby on my right.I prayed for God to have mercy on Mike Axelrod's soul, and to protect ours. I prayed that this might not be our last Christmas together. But even that sobering thought couldn't deflate my mood. I might not have had my dose of Mom's Oatmeal Rudolph cookies, but I was content. I was surrounded by people who loved me and helped with me. In fact, Gibbs' house wasn't even that different from my parents.

Yeah, Christmas Eve was good.

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	14. Samoan Woman

**This is actually a story from one of my teachers who was a police officer in LA for eleven years. We found it amusing.  
><strong>

**Trev**

"Why do you insist on using your own personal vehicle instead of the agency cars?" Kate asked as we drove to the car to the suspects house.

"I like my Charger," I answered, "Besides, I've tricked it out so much that the agency's Fusion can't hold a candle."

"I _have _wondered why you have a CB radio," she said.

"Police band," I corrected, "And really, those things don't even have sirens."

"Why do you and Tony make such a big deal of that?" she asked.

"FBI, DEA, Secret Service, _they_ have sirens," I complained, "Why not us?" by now we arrived at the house.

"Is it even _legal_ for your vehicle to have a police siren?" she asked as she exited my car.

"I have a permit," I answered.

"Is it a _real_ permit?"

"I am not at liberty to say," I was prepared to knock on the door when we heard a feral scream. I got my signal from her and kicked open the door.

"_NCIS! FREE-!"_

Standing there, knife in her husband, was a _whale_ of a Samoan. I've yet to meet a small Samoan. And this one was the biggest, fattest one I have ever seen. Easily five hundred pounds. I didn't need to look at Secret Service to know what she thought. The thought was in my head too.

_Do we have enough bullets to put her down?_

She let out another feral scream, yanked the knife out of her husband, and charged us. At that moment, we decided that we did _not_ have enough bullets. So we did the natural thing. We ran.

She chased us for three blocks before she ran out of steam enough for me to tackle her. As I undid my shoelace to tie her hands behind her back, I said to Secret Service, "We never speak of this again."

"Agreed."

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	15. Standards

**Trev**

"Now, what was wrong with that one?" I demanded as Tony walked off with the fine piece that I had spent the past five minutes working. Secret Service had given her signal to dump, and Tony picked her up on the rebound. I was seething. It was the third girl tonight that had yet to meet Caitlin Todd's "standards".

"She had a tramp stamp," she replied, sipping her beer.

"'_Tramp Stamp_'?" I said, "And what is wrong with that?"

"Please," she scoffed, "The tone and her choice of words indicated you were the third guy she had this week."

"_And what is wrong with that?"_

"You want to sleep with a slut?"

"_Yes!" _I sighed dejectedly, "Just because you had the bad sense to breakup with Booth and you aren't feeling the love- ow!" I said as she smacked my arm.

"Grow up," she demanded, "I didn't hit you that hard."

"I mean seriously," I continued, "You two were getting so I couldn't stand to be around you. If there were ever two people-"

"You sound like my mother," she said.

"Well, until you clean your room, you're not going to that sock-hop," that got a chuckle out of her.

I got up, "Three aclock, green shirt, black bag, black short-shorts," I informed her.

She took one look at her, "Is she twelve?"

"Twenty-one, my guess," I said.

"Wow. She needs to be carded," she observed as she gave the barkeep her license.

"Younger ones are more willing to experiment," I countered. I looked at the target, "I'm already picking my-" I lost my train of thought as another girl about the same age came and gave her a full kiss on the lips.

Secret Service laughed, "Shut down before you even get up! Nice!"

"Nope," I smiled. This would be a challenge. I love challenges, "I just have to pick a new strategy. Besides, that relationship cannot last."

"Because she's gay?"

"No, because they are two beautiful women," I said, "And one thing beautiful women can't stand is other beautiful women."

"Now you're making things up," Secret Service accused.

"No, think about it," I said, "Women are incredibly competitive. Two beautiful women would always be insecure about there position in the food chain."

"You're full of it."

"Back to the original point," I steered, "I give you three-to-one odds on fifty bucks that I can pick up _both_ of them."

"You're on."

Mental note: teach Jenny to see through all the crap guys like me and DiNozzo pull.

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	16. Bete Noire

"Sir, First Lieutenant Trevodur, reporting as ordered, sir!" I promptly saluted and stood there.

The Brigadier General Hauser quickly (and sloppily, but who am I to tell a general off?) and returned to reading my file. I dropped my salute and stood at attention. I waited there, a light sweat going down the back of my neck. This hearing was a surprise, and I didn't like surprises.

Finally, after what seemed like forever, the general said, "Sit down."

So, he wants to play these mind games. I can play too. Even if I'm at a disadvantage.

* * *

><p>"You've never had a nightmare?" Tony asked.<p>

"Nuh-uh," Kate replied.

"Not even as a kid?"

"Nope," she said as she collected her paperwork from the evidence worker and made her way to the elevator. They had just recently deposited the evidence collected from the room a terrorist Gibbs had shot te night before, "Never been afraid of the dark or boogey-man under my bed."

"Neither did I, but the vampire in the canopy of my bed freaked me," Tony said.

"You had a canopy bed?" Kate asked. She thought, _And to think I shared a bunk bed with my sister!_

"My mother was into Louis XVIII," he explained, "It wasn't my call, Kate."

"Does she still frighten you?"

"My mother?"

"The vampires."

"What makes you think it was a she?" he asked coyly.

"The seductress," she said, "Knowing you, it _had_ to be female."

"Well, she would have been after my blood, so..."

By the time we got out of the elevator, Kate amusedly said, "Canopy beds, trump candles, no wonder your bete noire was a vampire."

"Bete noire, nice Kate," Tony said, "What do you think Trev's bete noire is?"

"I'm half afraid to find out."

* * *

><p>"This promotion hearing is to hear cause or reason to promote First Lieutenant Trevodur, Jon M., to Captain," Hauser read from the file, "Presiding is Brigadier General Jacob Wolfric Hauser Commander, Marine Corps Base Quantico, Colonel Stanly White, Commander, Security Battalion MCB Quantico, and Major Gerald Armen, Commander, Marine Corps CID Detachment Quantico."<p>

Now give me a minute to explain: though I am nominally on Gibbs' team and take orders from him, my _real_ bosses (You have no idea how loosely I use that term) are Chief Warrant Officer 3 Dan Schiebek (USMC CID), who goes bowling with me every Wednesday and whom I turn in copies of all the reports I make to Gibbs. Further up is Amren, then White, then technically to the Provost. However, Hauser has more than enough pull to put my balls in a vice.

In other words, I am technically a liaison between NCIS and USMC CID. Oh, the joys of double paperwork.

I let the continuing monotone of Hauser's voice wash over me.

* * *

><p>Ducky's heart raced.<p>

He had been in Afghanistan, in Kosovo, in many other hell holes while he served in the Royal Medical Service. It never got easier. He thought that he had put all that behind him when he took the job as the Chief Medical Examiner for NCIS Field Office, Washington.

Now he had been taken hostage by a Middle Eastern male, late twenties early thirties, with a silenced Makarov.

His heart leaped to his throat when he saw Caitlin, not Abigail behind his doors. Maybe, just maybe, he could get a word out to Jethro...

"You can leave it there," he said.

"You have to sign," she told him.

"Well, I-I can't open the doors, with you there," Ducky was gaming on her psychological profiling training to pick up on the slight hitch in his voice, the small urgency in his tone.

"What's the infection?" Ducky mentally cursed. The more questions she asked him, the more he would have to lie. The more he had to lie, the greater the chance that she would slip up.

"Don't know yet," he lied, "Had a postule on his thigh. Could be nothing."

When she didn't look convinced, he said, "I'll sign, cross my heart."

"I beat my phobia," his heart skipped a beat. She knew something was wrong. Now I only she would just _leave..._

"So I see, Abby," he said, "Well done..."

He turned back to the body, his heart rate slowing down considerably. Jethro would know something was wrong. He would bring that bastard down...

He heard the doors to autopsy open. He turned around to see the bastard with his gun on Caitlin. Instantly, his need to protect kicked in. and he seethed, because there was nothing he could do about it.

Vaguely he wondered, _Who do I want to kill him? Myself, obviously. Jethro would be more than happy to do it. But Trevodur would make him suffer..._

And then he shot Gerald in the shoulder.

_Trevodur it is..._

* * *

><p><em> Hamas or Al-Queda?<em>

The question burned in Gibbs' mind. Hamas favored suicide bombers. They had enough uneducated kids for that. Al-Queda were professionals. Small teams, big splash. The difference between the two could mean life or death for Ducky and Gerald and Kate.

What could a fry-cook do to create a terror attack? Immediately, he thought of germ warfare. A virus smuggled into the country in a small container like a soda drink or tea box would do the trick. There were no Isreali targets in the area that he knew of. But Al-Queda wouldn't use such a flimsy plan...

First step, find the source of the infection.

* * *

><p>"Lieutenant, do you remember August 12, 2002?" Hauser asked.<p>

"Yes sir," I replied. I remember that summer clearly, though it went by so fast that I felt cheated. In more ways than one.

"What can you tell us about that day?" the Hauser asked.

"Nothing, unless you have proof that you have been read in on that program," and there was only two people who could provide that. One of them is in my chair, "Sir."

"Hmm," White said, "A lot of your file is blacked out."

"I had a lot of fun over my career, sir," I said.

They showed no reaction. That's when it hit me.

_This wasn't just about a promotion_.

Hauser had cut his teeth in Vietnam, working for Navy Intelligence. White was a politician. If there was anyone who could lie through his teeth to me in this Corps, it was him. And Amren had done extensive undercover investigations. All three had been chosen for one purpose.

They can lie to me. And get away with it.

This game just got interesting.

* * *

><p>Kate was sweating despite the cold.<p>

"SO where is the evidence collected from Qasam's room?" the terrorist asked politely. Vaguely, she wondered if Trev sounded like that when he did "Not nice stuff".

"In lock up," she snapped, "In the garage, one floor up."

"Same way I came in in?" he asked.

"I don't know how you came in," she said.

"In a body bag."

"Same way your going out," Kate snarked, smiling evilly at him.

"Same garage?" he asked.

"No," Ducky answered, "Next to Forensics, one floor above us."

The terrorist didn't answer. Kate turned her attention back to Gerald, though she wasn't quite sure what she could do. She studied basic first aid, but what food could that do against a bullet wound? She kept the terrorist in the corner of her eye.

She jumped a little when he shot something in the top corner of the room.

Then he went into high gear. He quickly stripped off his green scrubs. Underneath, he was wearing black tactical clothes. She started forming an idea of how he would get out.

This man is psychotic.

* * *

><p>"Lieutenant, I am going to be frank with you," Oh good, now that the bullshit's over, we now move onto <em>generic<em> shit... "You spent ten years in the Marine Corps payroll, not always working for us."

"But always working for Uncle Sam, sir," I said.

"Quite," Huaser said, "In fact, total, you spent only four years as an officer, and only one of those with a Marine unit. Which one was that?"

"2/B/3/3," I answered. 2Nd Platoon, Company B, 3rd Battalion, 3rd Marines.

"Most officers wait eight years before they become a captain," Armen said, "What makes you think you deserve it?"

"The fact that I routinely score next to perfect on my weapons qualifications and my PFT," I said, "That all my fitreps have been outstanding. And that Chief Warrant Officer Schiebek has me working for Agent Gibbs, who, as you know, won't take anybody but a prodigy on his team."

"Hmm," That's getting annoying, White, "I have here," he pulled out a sheaf of paper, "A glowing fitrep from Agent Gibbs, along with a recommendation for a transfer to a Troubleshooter position in the Pentagon."

"I had some initial trouble integraiting to investigative work," I said.

"This was written last week."

That's a surprise.

* * *

><p>"Why haven't we gotten ahold of Trev?" Gibbs demanded.<p>

"He's got a promotion hearing today, Boss," DiNozzo said.

"Rule 3," Gibbs said.

"'Never be unreachable'," DiNozzo recited, "Boss, his career's on the line."

"So's the lives of this team," Gibbs growled.

"What do you expect him to do?" DiNozzo asked, "We already got one of the best Tac Teams in the country here."

"Another set of eyes never hurt," Gibbs said.

"Think he would see something we missed?"

Gibbs pointed to the terrorists face on the screen, "How much you wanna bet that Trev knows this guy?"

"I don't bet unless I'm certain that I can win."

* * *

><p>The room was very dark as Gibbs entered.<p>

"You're older than I expected," a voice said. European taught, not his first language.

"Where are the other hostages?" Gibbs asked. The terrorist stepped into view. He was tallish, and wirey. A man who can disappear into a crowd. Unless you count the pistol in his hand.

"Box on the floor," the terrorist ordered.

The game continued. It was chess, really. The terrorist ordered Gibbs to turn around and put his hands on his head. Gibbs responded by walking foreward into the darkness, straining his eyes to pick out Gerald, Kate and Ducky.

When the terrorist repeated the instructions in the same level tone, Gibbs obliged. He wouldn't get anywhere playing with his emotions. For all Gibbs knew, this bastard didn't have any.

He put the box on a tray and put his hands on his head, facing the door. He waited to be frisked for a weapon, "You want outta here alive?"

"I'm sure Gerald does."

"I think you do too," Gibbs said, "That's why, very slowly now, and take outta here with two fingers, exactly what you want," he pulled out the bag with the decoy nasal spray. He opened the bag and pulled it out and took three big shots of the stuff, "Eh! Surprise! You failed! Mission over. The real smallpox virus is on it's way to the CDC," he turned back to the terrorist, "You wanna talk about whether you live or die?"

"How far away from Qasam were you when you shot him?" the terrorist asked.

"I don't know," Gibbs replied.

"You had to measure it for your report."

"37 feet and some odd inches," Gibbs said.

"Your a good shot."

"Love to demonstrate."

"Funny," the terrorist said, "Special Agent Todd said the same thing."

"Where is she?" Gibbs asked, "And the Doctor?"

Gibbs could see the terrorist grin, "Would you truly like to demonstrate?" He said with an excited tone.

"Yep," Gibbs said deathly quiet.

The terrorist slid a long metal rectangle to Gibbs' feet. He looked down. It was a magazine for a handgun, "Agent Todd's Sig Sauer is in that box, to your left. The clip if from the SIG Sauer. Untampered, all live rounds."

Gibbs picked up the magazine and tapped it against his palm. Fully loaded. He looked in the box on the floor. The weapon was there. He picked it up, looking at the terrorist. He did nothing. He was still as Gibbs loaded the weapon.

Gibbs had only one question, "Why?"

The terrorist answered, "Why not?"

* * *

><p><strong>Trev<strong>

2_09... 210... 211..._

Room 212. The lock was cheap. As was the wood. Good.

I pulled my silenced .45. I stepped back and threw all my weight onto my foot as I kicked the door in.

Ari Haswari jumped out of bed, fully dressed. He would have brought his weapon to bear if I hadn't shot just above his head. He ducked and tried to roll off and put the bed between me and him. I moved perpendicular, fast. I caught him on his knees, with his weapon near his face, totally useless.

"Drop it," I demanded.

He did. I moved foreward and kicked him to the floor. I put my knee on his chest and my weapon to his neck.

"I warned you, didn't I?" I asked, incensed, "I warned not to come to _my house!"_

"You and your American Football," he chuckled. I squeezed all the slack out of my trigger. An involuntary twitch and Ari Haswari had a trip to Hell.

"Not only did you ignore my warning," I said, "You enter _my workplace!_ You threaten _my team!"_

He laughed, "I heard them talking about nightmares."

"I'm yours," I threatened.

"As am I, yours," he found this hilarious. It unnerved me. Fucking David. Keeping his operatives out in the field too long. They let in the darkness to survive. Some, like Ari, let in too much. He needs the danger. He needs it to feel alive.

Once apon a time, I almost felt the same.

I moved the weapon away from him. I said, "I'll give you twenty-four hours. Out of the country, or I kill you."

"One day..." he chuckled, "I look forward to that one day..."

* * *

><p><em>BangBang!<em>

"You know that's illegal," I said as I entered the basement. I was too angry to even flinch from the gunshots.

"Arrest me," Gibbs snapped.

"I would love too," I shot back.

"What are you here for?" he growled.

"When were you going to tell me you wanted me off the team?" I demanded.

"You were never the investigative type," Gibbs said.

"So since the beginning?" I said, "Since when can you not tell me _everything?_ You have a problem, I'm the one to solve it."

"I don't need a problem solver."

"Bullshit!" I snapped, "How many warrants did I get you faster than anyone else? How many interrogations have I conducted that brought results?"

"You're too black," when he said that, I knew he meant nothing about the color of my skin.

"That's rich, coming from you," I growled.

"You want to stay?" Gibbs yelled, "You stay!"

I was quiet. I thought of all the times that my life was in the hands of this man. I thought of all the times that I thought I was useful to this team. I had been fooled. Not only by the promotion board, but by Gibbs.

"Consider this my two weeks notice," I said as I left the basement.


	17. Gettsville, Part 1

**Kate**

"The suit it back," I whispered.

"Not really," Tony said, observing Trev rumaging through the file cabinet, "No jacket. Nice shirt though. Silk sleeves should not be rolled up."

"I like my sleeves rolled up," he answered.

"How can he hear us whisper from up here?" I wondered. We were on the staircases leading up to MTAC.

"High-sensitivity to sound," he replied, "I feel like dressing a little more professional today," he was wearing a black silk pinstripe shirt with black pants and expensive black leather shoes.

"This is not good Kate," Tony said, "Trev is like an iceberg in a whirlpool. You only see a little of him at a time, and he's unpredictable, going left, then right, the more right because there is no pattern. If you're not careful, he can sink you."

"I'll give that a four," I judged.

"I like it better than 'Schizoid ghost with dynamite'," Trev said, "A nine."

"Seriously, a four?" Tony said, "That was almost art I did right there."

"Wouldn't the whirlpool sink him before the iceberg?"

"Whirlpools are usually too small to sink ships," Gibbs said, entering the bullpen, "Grab your gear, dead Petty Officer in Rock Creek Park."

"What is with that place and dead bodies?" Trev wondered.

"Big, lot's of tree cover," Tony mused.

"These killers have no imagination," I responded.

* * *

><p><strong>Trev<strong>

"Martin McFielding," I read off the ID, "Machinists Mate 3rd Class."

"Metro already processed the scene," Tony said, "Found this in that trashcan," he pointed to one about thirty yards away and held up a swithblade in an evidence bag.

"Did you say 'McFielding'," Secret Service asked.

"Yeah," I said, handing her the ID, "Martin McFielding."

"There was a McFielding family in my hometown," Secret Service said, "Small world."

"Is Martin here part of that clan?" I asked.

"I left when I was eighteen," she said, "Never been back long enough to immerse myself in the politics."

"Feud?"

"Hatfields and McCoys," she said, snapping another picture of the body.

**NCIS HQ**

"Unfortunately, Secret Service was right," I said, "McFielding did come from Gettsville, Indiana," I clicked the remote, bringing up his service record, "Joined the Navy at nineteen, met his standards, but didn't particularly excel."

"Kate, feud," Gibbs asked.

"The McFieldings and the Jacksons were two of the four founding families of Gettsville," she said, "Together, the extended family has been raising trouble throughout the town."

"Of six hundred souls," Tony said.

"The feud started when John Paul McFielding and Nathaniel Giddeon Jackson-"

"Ya just don't see those names anymore," Trev mused.

"Enlisted in the Army to fight the War of 1812," she continued, "They fought in the Invasion of Upper Canada. It was there that their unit was attacked," she clicked the remote again, showing a portrait (badly done) of two young officers in early US Army uniforms, "McFielding died in the attack, and Jackson was executed for cowardice when his unit retreated to safer ground. The Jackson's maintained that Nathaniel had fallen back to reinforce and lead a counter attack, which he did. The McFieldings say that Nathaniel left John Paul to die."

"And they're arguing about that all these years later?" Tony said.

"Small town politics," I said, "You're raised to hate, you hate."

"How much we talkin," Gibbs asked.

"Mostly bar fights," she replied, "Every once in a while, you get someone being sent to the hospital. Petty law suits, vandalism, never gone as far as murder, though."

"First time for everything," Gibbs said.

* * *

><p><strong> Abby's Lab<strong>

"I hear that our new case overlaps with Kate's hometown," Abby said.

"It just might," Gibbs replied, "Whaddya got, Abs?"

"I checked the knife for fingerprints and ran the blood," she said, "Zilch on the latter, but blood does match our vic. This is definitely the murder weapon."

"All you got?"

"Please," Abby scoffed, "Have I ever failed you? I took it apart and found that it wasn't well cared for. Shame, really. There was dirt and grime in the mechanism, which I ran through the mass spec," she clicked the keyboard, bringing out a spectographic analysis chart, "The dirt was made up largely of carbon and silica, which is found all over the US. However, there was also minute traces of iron, anthracite, and granite. I used the US Geology Survey website to narrow it down to..." she clicked the keyboard multiple times, bringing up a map of... "South-East Indiana."

* * *

><p><strong>Autopsy<strong>

"Jethro, I only just got started," Ducky complained.

"Found anything so far?" with anyone else, Gibbs would have used the more brash and ruder "yet."

"Unstereotypically good teeth, for someone of his heritage," Ducky said, "It-it reminds me of the time I visited Los Angelos in the 70s. Yes, I was attached to the Parachute Regiment and we were doing some cross-training with the American unit stationed in- blazes, the name eludes me..."

"Duck," Gibbs said.

"Right," Ducky again focused on the deceased, "Well, the victim had calluses on both his hands, which suggests he was ambidextrous. The defensive wounds on his right arm, however," he lifted the man's arm, showing shallow cuts near the wrist, "Suggest that he favored fighting Southpaw style."

"It also shows that he was facing his attacker," Gibbs said.

"Quite," Ducky noted, "I'll have Mr Trevodur look at them later, see what he thinks," Ducky said, "I am surprised that you accepted his two weeks notice."

"Hasn't told the Tony or Kate yet," Gibbs said, "Or Abby."

"Yes," Ducky said, "Doubtless, it has to do with your anger over the terrorist."

"He knows who he is, Duck," Gibbs protested.

"I imagine he does," Ducky continued, "And despite my animosity- no hatred- towards the bastard, I don't let Mr Trevodur's desire for secrecy ruin my friendship with him. This vendetta you have, it's personal."

"Are you telling me that you don't want to weigh his liver anymore, Duck?" Gibbs asked with a smile.

"Oh, heavens no," Ducky said, "But I am too old to hold onto my anger like that. I have learned that if you let your hatred for the enemy drive you to isolation, then they have truly won."

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	18. Gettsville, Part 2

**Kate**

The order was given. Tony, Gibbs, and I went home, packed two days worth of clothes, grabbed our gear, and boarded a plane for Cincinnati. From there, we rented a car and drove for three hours to Gettsville. Trev was left to stay in Washington with McGee to track Petty Officer McFielding's movements in the days prior to his death.

"Wow!" I gasped as Gibbs narrowly avoided hitting a car on the freeway, "Gibbs! Can you _try_, for once, to not scare the crap out of me?"

"Never been in a car accident," Gibbs said evenly, "Never had a ticket."

"I'm actually not surprised," Tony said.

Gibbs swerved his car to avoid narrowly avoid a car. I again clutched my seat. It was almost as scary as Trev's driving when he was in a hurry. At least Gibbs didn't drive on into oncoming traffic.

I heard sirens in the distance. Gibbs looked in his rear-view in annoyance. He reluctantly pulled over. I silently cursed when I saw who got out of the squad-car.

Sheriff Andrew Todd leaned down, hand on his weapon, and said, backwoods accent as thick as ever, "License and registration."

Gibbs pulled out his badge, "Federal Agents."

"Not your license and registration," Andy continued.

"Andy," I sighed, "Stop screwing around. Or mom will hear about what happened on Grad Night."

Andy's face was unreadable to anyone but me, his eyes behind mirror aviators. Gibbs' eyes flicked to me then back to my brother. Finally, Andy stood up, wrote Gibbs a ticket, and told him to follow him to the station.

It figures that my brother would be the first cop to write Gibbs a ticket.

* * *

><p><strong>Trev<strong>

"McDumbshit," I said, "Follow," I gestured with my finger without looking back. I could her him scramble to catch up. I continued, "I am not Gibbs. I am not DiNozzo. I am not Secret Service. Understand?"

"Yes, sir," he said as we got into the elevator.

"I don't *bleeping* baby anyone. Understand?" I said, not waiting for him to answer, "*Bleeping* shouldered with the *bleeping* newbie. You wanna do *bleeping* field work?"

A point of reference: I like McGee. He's like Socrates in the fact that he knows that while he knows a lot, he don't know shit. He knows his place. That of pupil. I'd be the mentor. So, I'd mentor the only way I know how. By speaking Marine to him.

"Yes sir," he said quickly.

"Good," I said, "Follow my *bleeping* lead, and you might learn how the nastier investigators work."

"Yes sir."

"I pulled his phone records," I said, "The *Bleeping-blanking-mother-blanker* called an acquaintance of mine. A bounty-slash-treasure hunter named Kyle Dakotas. A source of mine tells me that Dakotas is also a sniffer for the PCs."

"Sniffer?" McGee asked.

"Finder," I clarified, "Tracker, guy you go too when you lost something and want it back."

"What's the source, sir?"

"An old friend..."

* * *

><p><strong>McGee<strong>

Trev's "source" turned out to be his brother, Officer Sam Trevodur, Washington Metro PD Gang Task Force. But where Trev was a knife, compact lethality, Sam was a baseball bat, big and obvious. He was a full head taller than Trev, and his biceps strained against his shirt. His face face was always screwed up in an amused grin, like he had thought of something funny at your expense but was too polite to say it. He had five-o-clock shadow and longish hair, in contrast to Trev's close shave and short crop. Other than that, they were twins.

"Hey, Jonny," he greeted, leaning on his unmarked cruiser.

"Sam," Jon nodded, "Where's Dakotas?"

He jerked his head to the house behind him, "I got his home address and car info from a bondsman he does jobs for. Should be a walk in the park. Who's greenie, here?"

"McDumbshit, Sam Trevodur, my brother, part of Gang Task Force," he introduced, "Sam, Special Agent Tim McGee," thankfully, his handshake was firm but not painful.

"When he insults ya, it means he likes ya," Sam assured, his crooked smile growing.

"McGee, Sam, take the back," Trev ordered.

"Why should I listen to you?" Sam said, somewhat rudely.

Trev pulled out his badge, "_Federal_ agent."

"I'm older."  
>"By one year."<p>

"Still older."

"I'm Federal. My jurisdiction is across the US."

"Your just jealous because Mom liked me more."

"Ah, here we go again..."

"Guys..." I said.

_"Stay out of this!"_ they snapped.

"You _never_ could accept that Daddy's little prodigy wasn't Mom's favorite."

"Oh, now who's jealous?"

"Of who? You?"

"Yeah, me! Like you said, you're older, so you should have all that crap down pat! It must have pissed you off so much when I dropped you on the mat every time."

"_You're afraid of potatoes!"_

_"I'm in therapy!"_

_ "He's running!"_ I shouted pointing to Dakotas, who hopped his back fence.

Trev scowled at me and said, "Well? You just gonna stand here and *bleep* yourself? Go!"

I took after him. I vaulted over the back fence and thought, _I'm wearing the wrong shoes for this._

Dakotas raced into the house behind his, interrupting the lunch of two old folks. I apologized as I followed. He busted through the front door and took a left. I drew my sidearm and kept it at my side. He continued running. I pushed hard. I gained a little ground. The math in my head was clear. Judging by our approximate speeds, I catch him in-

Sam appeared almost out of no where in front of Dakotas, clotheslining him like a professional wrestler. Dakotas did a full 360 degree flip and landed on his back. I stopped and bent over, hands on knees, trying to catch my breath. Trev nudged him with his foot. Then he turned to his brother and said, "Great. Now he's unconsciouses."

* * *

><p><strong>Tony<strong>

I'm loving this case already. Wanna know why? I'll tell you why. Because when we arrived at the Sheriff's station, who would be there but Kate's mother? And this lady was Kate with bleached blond hair aged a good twenty-thirty years. And the first words out of her mouth made my day.

"Agent Gibbs, I presume?" she said walking right up to him, "How is my daughter supposed to find a husband if you keep working her so hard?"

"Mom!" Kate gasped, blushing bright red.

"I want someone to take care of you!" she protested.

I chuckled at the thought of some man trying to take care of Kate.

We left them squabbling and followed Kate's brother Andy to his office. Judging by the amount of desks, there were all of six deputies assigned here. His office was in the far corner.

"I hear that you have a dead McFielding on you hands," he said as he sat down.

"And a murder weapon that was here recently," Gibbs said.

"You can prove that," he leaned back lazily and put his boots on his desk. Judging from the wear, he did that often.

"Amzing what forensics can do, isn't it?" I said.

"I don't need this," he said, "I can't believe I'm saying this, but I want you to hold off on telling the family."

"Why?" Gibbs demanded.

"Because this here town's a powder keg and that is a lit match," Andy said, "The last thing I need is for this feud is to have it become a war."

"Think they'll actually start killing each other?" I asked.

He jerked his head at the wall. A black and white photo showed a scary amount of shotguns and rifles, "McFieldings and Jacksons almost blew up into a war in '43. Divided the whole town. That was the smallest cache of guns that we found. Whole town was arming up for something big. So, Agent Gibbs, I would appreciate it, _very much,_ if you didn't tell the McFieldings of Maritn's death."

"Did you know our victim personally?" Gibbs asked.

"Aside from the usual ruckus that the McFieldings made?" he said, "If anything, the fact that I didn't know him all that well spoke volumes. He didn't drink the Kool-Aid. As soon as he could, boarded a bus and got out here."

I produced a picture of the murder weapon, "You know who this belongs too?"

"Switchblades are like assholes in Gettsville," he said, "Everyone got one, some got two, and they all stink," he rubbed his left bicep, as if remembering a knife fight.

"Would the Jacksons be willing to start a war?" Gibbs asked.

"This isn't like the mafia of the big city," Andy said, "It isn't about business. This is about history and revenge. Me and Pa and Dan Schtoller have done a good job of keeping this from escalating."

I wrote on my note pad, _Shtoller, Andy, Kate's Dad= peacekeeper, _"Any ballsy Jacksons in particular."

"Mitchell," he said, "He and his posse are usually ones to start fights."

_Mitchell and Co= trblemakers._

Gibbs asked, "Who should I talk too in the McFielding family?"

"I found that Hartman has loose lips when he gets a few drinks in him," Andy said, "He usually hangs out at _Pa's,_ the local watering hole. Katie will show you where it is."

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	19. Gettsville, Part 3

**Trev**

"Mr Dakotas," I said as Sam pushed him up against the wall of his house. Now that I think about, it wouldn't be hard to find a skinny white guy in a predominantly Hispanic neighborhood, "I understand that you been doing sniffer work for the PCs, right?"

"*Bleep* off," he slurred. The good thing was that he probably had a killer headache. So rather than have Sam throw him through a wall, I just put my fingers in my mouth and whistled. Loudly. He swore and shook his head, his hands being cuffed behind his back.

"Sniffer, am I right?"

When he didn't answer, I put my fingers to my mouth, "Okay! Okay!" he pleaded, "Yeah, the PCs pay me to find shit. Alright? Mostly ripped off drug shipments, runners, that sort of thing."

I pulled out the photo of McFielding's corpse, "This guy hire you?"

"Aww, man, I'm gonna be sick," I wasn't sure if that was from the concussion or the photo. When he looked away, I whistled again, "Awww shit! Yes! Yes! He paid me two large to find some old guy!"

"What old guy?" I asked.

"Some rich old guy in Fairfax," he said, "Some American history collector."

"I need an address," I said.

"I don't-"

Whistle.

* * *

><p><strong>Kate<strong>

This place hasn't changed at all. Not the backwoods road to the restaurant, or the small, ramshackle restaurant, or the fact that it had screens instead of windows, or the Stevie Wonder playing softly in the backgrounds. Even most of the customers were the same. The place still smelled of pine, tangy barbecue sauce and roasted meat. The tables were sanded wood. Every spring Dad would make new ones, and every day at closing, it would be my job to clean them.

But things have changed. Everything seemed so... _small_.

"Katie!" Mr Riggs called, "It's been a long time. Hey, could you be a doll and take this back? It's too cold."

My nerves were stretched thin from my mother already. So, I did something stupid. I showed him the badge clipped to my hip, "I don't work here anymore, Mr Riggs."

His face fell. Immediately, him and about a half dozen other customers got out.

Moonshiners.

All conversation immediately stopped. I heard a faint laugh come from behind the counter in the kitchen. Daddy, his leathery face a bit more wrinkled than I remembered. His blue eyes twinkled and his face split in a wide smile. I hated that. It always made me feel guilty about leaving and not visiting often.

"Baby girl!" he greeted, enveloping me in a hug, "And you must be Agents Gibbs and DiNozzo," he shook there hands, "Come, follow me. I got another table out back that's a little more private."

It was the same tables that we had dinner on everyday of every summer. Remade every year. Always smelling like pine sap.

He brushed the fallen pine needles off and gestured, "Sit, sit."

"Your son told us that you might know a few things about Martin McFielding," Gibbs said.

"Know more than a few things," he chuckled, "Baby girl, please explain what happens in this little town of ours."

I sighed, "The McFieldings, Jacksons, Todds, and Tanners were the founding families here. Tanners left when the feud first began, leaving the Todds to keep the peace. Traditionally, the family home served as a sort of neutral ground where both parties could resolve conflicts peacefully."

"But the original home burned down when my Ganddaddy was a boy," Daddy said, "Built this restaurant with his bare hands, and business resumed."

"Nothing goes on here that he doesn't know about," I pointed out.

"Petty Officer McFielding," Gibbs asked.

"Born, what, must have been twenty years ago?" Daddy scratched his chin, "Not a great student. Not like Katie-bell here," I shot DiNozzo a warning glare, "Didn't join in the feud like his brothers. Now, you better hope that _they_ don't find out about his death."

"Anything else?" Gibbs asked.

"Left me a voice message," he said, "Said he thought he could find a way to end the feud."

"Do you still have it?" Gibbs asked.

"Sorry, I erased it," Daddy confessed, "I thought it would be a waste of time. I'd heard it all before."

"Any idea what it could be?" Tony asked.

"Could have been anything," Daddy said.

"Who's Dan Shtoller?" Gibbs asked.

"He's the county attorney," Daddy said, "He came in about five years ago, after working in a big law firm in the city. He's been helping me keep a lid on the feud. You remember him, don't you Katie-Bell?"

"Vaguely," I lied. Boy, did I lie...

* * *

><p><strong>Trev<strong>

"McFielding hired a local sniffer to find an old letter," I said in MTAC.

_"Sniffer?"_ Secret Service asked.

"_A sort of private investigator for gangs," _Tony explained.

"_What's the letter say?"_ Gibbs asked.

"I'm still trying to track the owner down," I said, "Some reclusive American History collector. I'll need a warrant to go farther."

"I've been trying to get a list of tickets sold on all flights from Cincinnati to Dulles, but so far no luck," McGee said, "The flight schedules are public record themselves, but the sales of the tickets are considered private information unless they represent some immediate danger, so we need a warrant.

_"Why haven't you gotten anything?"_

"Gibbs, it's nine at night," I said, "I've already used up all the favors I had on all the earlier cases I had with you. All that's left is to tell the judges who hate me that I would owe them one."

"_Do that,_" Gibbs ordered.

"No thanks, Gibbs, I chose life," I said, "I'll call Judge Rosen in the morning. It can wait until then."

_"I want it done tonight, Trev._"

I felt something in me snap, breaking instincts brought through years in the Corps and JROTC, "Not possible, Gibbs."

"_I'm giving-"_

"It's. Not. Possible," I growled, planting my feet in the ground, "I don't know what bug planted itself in your ass, but I am _not_ pissing away a future just satisfy a graying warhorse who thinks their hot shit when they're never getting past Team Leader!"

_"Are you disobeying a direct order?"_

_ "You think I'm afraid of you?"_ I growled, then took a deep breath, "The warrant will be served tomorrow morning. 0630 sharp," I cut the line.

McGee looked pale and frightened. He looked at me like I just had a cursing match with God.

I was too angry to care.

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	20. Author's note

** Dear all readers,**

** I thank you for reading this far into my stories. I will not be able to repost at all for the rest of the sumer because I deploy(ed) to MCRD San Diego (AKA Bootcamp) on 11th of June, 2012. I'll be able to repost sometime in September.**

** Semper Fidelis,**

** Sirscreen.**


	21. Gettsville, Part 4

**So I'm back, graduate of 2nd Recruit Training Battalion, Company E "Evil Echo Empire". Sorry I haven't written. I had a lot of business to take care of.**

** The next day.**

** Tony.**

"I don't like this, Kate," I said as we drove down one of the many country roads of Gettsville.

"Neither do I," she replied, "Lots of ways this could go bad."

"Well, Gibbs could probably retire anytime he wants," I pointed out, "And Trev doesn't really have to work, so..."

"Do you want either of them with that much time on their hands?" she asked.

"Good point," I conceded, "How do you know Dan Schtoller?"

"We went to high school together," she said simply. Oh, Katey, I thought you knew me better than that...

"Really?" I asked in an interested tone, "Homeroom Homies?"

"We passed each other in the hallways sometimes," she said icily. Not a lie, but not the whole truth either.

"And that was all?" I kept my tone light and amused, masking how serious I was taking this. I'd have to be at the top of my game for this interview.

"Yes," now that was a straight lie.

I settled down as Kate drove to the county courthouse. I'll find out the truth eventually. I always do.

Well, county courthouse was a stretch. It looked like an auditorium with three outlying temporary buildings. In fact, I'm _sure _it is an auditorium with three outlying temporary buildings.

"This isn't a courthouse," I said, "It's half a high school."

"It is not," Kate defended.

"Your right," I agreed, "It's half a middle school," and I was still being generous.

She sighed like she knew she wasn't going to win this battle. That surprised me. Usually Kate will pull a Little Bighorn and defend any position to the last man. What changed my surprise to worry was when she tensed up. I've seen her before she prepared to clear a building. She goes loose, not tense up like a snake preparing to strike.

My humor at her dread vanished. This wasn't funny anymore.

She led me to the first temporary building. Inside was a receptionist desk and three empty work desks covered in case notes and files. So this was the DA's office.

"Special Agents Todd and DiNozzo, NCIS," Kate introduced to the receptionist, an old thing wearing fake pearls and a faded floral dress. I noticed the utter lack of a computer at her desk, "We're here to speak with DA Shtoller."

"You're late, Miss Todd," the old lady scolded, "Some things never change."

I expected Kate to start shooting the old crone, but was amazed when she took a deep breath and said nothing.

"Mr Shtoller is in a conference call," she said, "If you had arrived on time, I'm sure he would have seen you immediately."

This woman was pissing me off. I did a mental catalogue of everything I could observe or have observed about her. Day planner, her left, pen cup, my right. The planner was leatherbound, showed little wear, despite it being late in the year. Four number 2's in the cup, erasers full and bright, four blues, four blacks. Positioned equidistant from eachother. The way she sat was proper, straight backed and hands folded, left over right, on her desk. The telephone cord was neatly coiled and the handset resting perfectly square in the cradle. The phone was at least twenty years old.

She reminded me of an old débutante teacher.

"Can you inform him that we arrived, please?" Kate asked. I could hear the effort she put into enunciating her words.

She looked deceptively thoughtful.

"Please?" I asked with my award winning smile.

She narrowed her eyes at me, "Very well," she said curtly, getting up and walking to the office in the back. I took the opportunity when her back was turned to flip through the date book, ignoring Kate's scandalous look. I managed to place the book back exactly where it was before the old crone turned back.

"He will see you know," she informed us curtly. I felt like she was looking down at us. I was amused. It reminded me of those old high-society matrons old Lord Paddington would entertain. I'd put Tobasco in their tea when they weren't looking. Good times.

Before we reached the door, a man a few inches shorter than me, about thirty. He was tanned from long exposure to the sun, and he had the even, stocky build of a hiker, not big like a power lifter and not too thin to be a runner, but in the middle. He was dressed in "country formal", denim shirt, jeans, and blazer. He was handsome-ish, not like me, but he wouldn't have a hard time holding onto a woman.

"Agents Todd, DiNozzo, NCIS," Kate introduced. I noticed a _look_ they gave each other. It happened so fast and I didn't understand it, but it was definitely a _look_.

Interesting...

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_** EVIL!**_

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	22. Gettsville, Part 5

**Sorry I haven't updated in a while. I just completed School of Infantry, and my schedule has been full of classes and work while in the Fleet Marine Force.**

** Tony**

Dan Schtoller's office was about half the size of my bedroom. A suit hung in a corner, my guess for court appearances. His desk was cheaper than my own, steel with a wood laminate face. His computer at least was modern. Four black and white of four different families lined the wall. One of them had features that I could place on Kate. So those must be the Todds, Tanners, McFIeldings, and the Jacksons.

"So, you help keep the two families from killing each other," I said, "And how, exactly do you do that?"

"Heh," he laughed nervously, "It ain't easy. And, if I could talk off the record?"

"Sure," Kate agreed. I flicked my eyes at her she said that a little too easily. And even then, it wasn't her. She was the rule stickler. Gibbs and I would bend the rules. Trev I half expected to plant evidence. She was the one who kept us honest.

If she was going to play it like that, I'd have to be the one to play it by the rules... at least a little, "Alright, fine."

"You do compromises," he explained, "If a Mcfielding thought a Jackson wronged him, to keep it from blowing up, I'd look the other way on a McFielding moonshining operation. Or I'd arrest a Jackson, or one of their soldiers, depending on the severity of the offense," he rubbed his head, "Your father, Kate," he said, "Has been a tremendous help, as has your brother. But things aren't going well."

"Explain," I asked.

"Someone's been making drugs," he said, "Not weed. These back country farmers have been growing their own small supplies for generations. We burn the fields as we find them, but they're mostly an annoyance. I'm talking heroin, morphine, opiates. There's a poppy field out there somewhere, and someone is using it to make dangerous drugs."

"How do you know it's being grown and not smuggled?" Kate said.

"We've had four OD's this year," he said, "It may not sound like much, but that's more than the past two years combined. We've had busts of uncut heroin sent to the FBI lab in Quantico. They say it's clumsily made, from inexperienced cookers."

"Poppy fields have to be pretty big," I said, "How are you missing it?"

"The mines," he said, as if it explained everything.

Kate nodded in understanding, "There's lots of mine shafts, abandoned as early as ten years ago," she explained, "The entire county is riddled with them. There's even a park made out of them where kids play."

"Problem is that county law stipulates that as long as the entrance is on your land, the entire shaft is yours. If there are entrances on multiple lands, then the shaft is split evenly among all parties. It makes things difficult."

"English please."

"We'd have to get warrants for each property," he said, "And these property's are divided among separate family members. And some are owned by soldiers."

"How do these mines connect with the heroin?" I asked.

"They turn them into green houses," he said, "Temperature remains constant underground. You get some UV lights, generators, and you have yourself a hidden poppy field."

"And all of the equipment is common on half the farms in the area," Kate said.

"Which means that we have our work cut out for us."

"Why didn't the Sheriff tell us about this?" I asked.

"Because he doesn't know," Schtoller grimanced, "Kate, I'm sorry to say this, but I think that there's a dirty cop in your brother's department."

"No," Kate said flatly, "He wouldn't miss that."

"We all make mistakes," he assured, "But I want to play this close to the vest. My own investigators, and you two, and your boss. And that's where it ends."

**Kate**

"What could you find?" Gibbs said icily.

_"This guy is not only a collector," _Trev said, _"He's also a smuggler. Specializing in American history artifacts."_

"There's a market for that stuff?" DiNozzo asked.

_"Apparently,"_ Trev shot McGee a dirty look. I got the feeling that McGee knew all about this market, and "explained" it to him, _"He remembers our vic coming to talk to him. The subject was about a document from the War of 1812."_

"What about it?"

_"Where it could be found," _Trev said, _"The owner is a property developer who's agreed to let us see scans as long as he could keep the document."_

"What's it say?" Gibbs asked.

_"It's encoded,"_ Trev said, _"One of those cipher's developed by minutemen to keep the redcoats from catching on. It carried onto the OSS. Abby's working on it now, but it could take a while."_

"How?"

_"Kick knowledge, McGee."_

_ "It's a substitution cipher,"_ McGee said, _"Every letter in the alphabet is substituted with another. A becomes W, B becomes X. from there you can further emplace codes, creating multiple layers of encryption. If you don't have the key, it could take weeks, maybe months to crack it."_

"We don't have weeks, McGee," Gibbs snapped.

_"With your _permission_," _Trev said it like it tasted like bad lemons, _"I know a math guy who could decode it in a matter of hours._"

"Do it."

**Trev**

"Zack Addy," I called, "Get. Your. Geek. Ass. Over. Here. Now."

"Whatever it is you think I did, I don't know whether I did it," the young genius defended.

"Your not in trouble," I said.

"The last time you said that you caused me much discomfort."

"I made you _drive_," it's about time he learned it.

"And if you knew what I know about structural engineering-"

"I do know what you know about structural engineering," I said.

"Then you obv-"

"Finish that sentence and you will be in trouble," I produced the scans of the page, "Read."

"It's encoded," he said.

"Are you sure this guy's a genius," McGee asked. I started to think it was a bad idea bringing these two nerds together.

"Give him a minute," I said as I handed him a pen and pad.

Zack looked up and smiled mischievously at McGee. He looked at the page again for a few more seconds and them began to write on the pad. McGee shot me a questioning look, asking if he was serious.

"Computers are your thing, math is his," I said.

When he handed me the pad and scan again, I gave him a complex math problem, "A reward for your hard work."

"Something from that Gomer at Georgetown?" he asked.

"No, this one is from the Gomer at Virginia Tech," I explained. When he rolled his eyes, I defended, "I was in a hurry. And roll my eyes at me again, and I'll make you fly with the Blue Angels."

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	23. Gettsville, Part 6

**Tony**

Did I mention that I am having fun on this trip? I swear I'm going to start recording everything that Kate's mother says. This lady is a goldmine of blackmail material. I just hope that I can get another kindergarten story out of her before-

"Tony," I look up and I see Kate glaring daggers at me, "do you think that you could help my father in the kitchen?"

Dang, I thought, "But me and your mother were bonding."

"Were being the operative word," Kate shot back, tone light and at the same time leaving no room for argument.

I gulped. I knew that look. Kate would break mountains and knock balls to teeth if anyone argued with her when she had that look on her face. I silently got up, thanked Mrs. Todd for her time and went to the kitchen, where Mr. Todd was preparing the dinner. The smells coming out of there were mouth watering. Mmm, someone caught a salmon. Big one, or multiple too. The smell of expertly cooked fish and assorted spice rub slapped you in the face like a prom date. Ahh, prom. Good times.

"Tony-boy," Mr. Todd greeted. It seemed that when he liked someone, he added an endearing suffix too their name. I guess it's just one of those quirks that people have.

"Billy-O," I greeted back.

He laughed at that, "How'd you know my name was Bill?"

"It was on your wedding album in the parlor," I said.

"She show you that?" He chuckled,

"Nope, just saw it as I passed," I said.

He laughed again, "Guess that's why they call ya 'investigators' huh?"

"That would be it."

His chuckling died down, as did his ever present smile. He jerked his head to the parlor, "Let's test that," he challenged, "Forget everything that you knew previously about Katie-Bell. Woman without a name, what do you see?"

This sent shivers up my spine. I'm not saying I did it often, but there were times when I consciously tried to forget everything I knew about a person and focused on the here and now about them. It gave me an unbiased view of the person. Mostly, though, I did it to suspects, maybe some people I know but aren't close too. It worked with figuring out that the women in 11B was shellacking with the married man in 13A. But I never tried it on a partner.

I inhaled, counted to seven, and exhaled. I felt myself relax, and open.

Woman, about 5'6'', 130 lbs. Fit. Martial arts training, by the way she balances on her feet. Most likely jujitsu-

NO! I scolded. You know that because you've sparred with her. Her name's Caitlin Todd.

I inhaled again, counted to seven, and exhaled.

The Woman sat with good posture. Despite, or because of, her country-

Damn!

And that's when I realized that I _couldn't _make an unbiased observation of her, because I knew her so well. And then I realized that her reaction to her parents, to Dan Schtoller, didn't surprise me in the least. If given a scenario, I could describe, with perfect accuracy, how she would react, and probably what would go through her mind, too.

It scared me, knowing so much about a person. Knowing more about her than myself.

"So, ya see it too, don't ya?" For once, Billy Todd wasn't smiling while he sipped a beer, "Ya see what I've been seeing."

"What does it mean?" I asked.

"That's up to you," Billy said, "I've seen a lot in my time. Your relationship with Kate, is it so different as that among an old married couple, so used to each other's faults that it ceases to bother you, or from soldiers on the battlefield, who know each other so well, that you could fight side-by-side, and not say a word?"

I thought about that. When I first met her, I was floored by her looks. Truly, she was beautiful. When she insulted, I admit, that my pride was stung. Now, I'm amazed at how beautiful she was on the inside, too. How she could hold onto her faith in God despite all the gruesome crime scenes. All the evil we deal with in our job. How her heart always goes out to those less fortunate than us. How she's maintained a positive outlook on life, while me and Gibbs and Trev sometimes just pray for a murder to get out of a sexual harassment seminar. Now, when she insults me, it's funny, even to me. I find that I wouldn't trade our banter for all the compliments in the world.

When I remained silent, Bill smiled again, "And now I worry about Kate a little less. Because I know, that if it came to it, you would sacrifice your life to save hers."

I just nodded silently, "And then she'd kick my ass for doing such a stupid thing."

He laughed at that.

**Kate**

I couldn't believe it, "Mom."

"He's a nice man," Mom said with a smile.

"Who also like to embarrass me with things such as this," I held up the family photo album, "Come on, Mom, really, _baby photos?!_"

"You weren't so embarrassed when I showed Dan them while you two were dating," Mom said.

_"You showed Dan my baby photos?!_" And then I caught her implied message, "Ew! You think me and Tony are- Ew!"

"Well, why not?" Mom said.

"He's a womanizer," I began, "Immature, has no respect for my privacy-"

"What I hear," oh, how I hate those words coming out of her mouth, "Is that he's fun, which you need, dear-"

"I am tons of fun," I protested.

Mom gave that disbelieving look that caught me in so many lies when I was a kid, "He worries about you enough to want to know what you are doing," I scoffed at that, "And he's good in the sack."

Unfortunately, I was drinking milk when I heard this. I got snot milk all over her carpet, but she didn't seem to care, "Mom!"

"Well, with so many women going though there, I'd imagine they'd have to attracted to something!" She laughed.

"Who are you and what have you done to my mother?" I demanded.

"I'm worried about you, is all Kate," Mom said, "The only thing I want more than grandchildren is for you to be happy."

"I don't need a man to be happy," I argued, "Or children, either."

"I know you don't, sweetie," Mom said, "But wouldn't you agree, they make the happiness come easier?"

I had no argument for that. Because, in my mind's eye, I could see both Trev and Booth with their kids. The look of contentment in Trev's eyes as he spooned fed baby food to Jenny. His laughter, when every third spoon was vegetable sauce, and she got a look on her face that clearly said _what the hell, Daddy? What happened to peach flavor?_ Or Booth playing rocket ship with his son. Or any of my married friends, where just the chance of unwinding in their spouses arms while watching TV beat anything else.

"Heaven's knows, you've fought me on everything," Mom said, "Maybe it's time for you to stop fighting at least one person," She said, patting my hand, "I think it's time for supper."

It was, without a doubt, the weirdest supper I have ever had. It had been unseasonably warm, meaning that it did not yet snow, but it was cold enough to warrant scarves and layers. As me and Tony had driven into the driveway, it started to cloud over. By the time supper was served, sleet was coming down hard.

And then it knocked out the power. Dad chuckled, "I'll get the candles," he volunteered, maneuvering through the dark house by memory alone. When he came back, he had a box of pumpkin candles that he set on the table. I heard him pat his pockets, "Huh, forgot matches..."

"I got it," a voice said as he flipped a Zippo lighter.

I yelped in surprise. Trev demanded, "What?!"

"How'd you get here?" I demanded.

"Front door," he said, like it was obvious, "You really shouldn't leave it unlocked."

"We didn't think anyone would break in while we were home," Dad laughed. I wondered how even he could find humor in this, "You must be Trev. My daughter's told me so much about you."

"The only thinking I know about you is that you had an alarming amount of traffic violations in '98," Trev said.

"It was my son's first year as a deputy," He defended.

"Sherriff in five years, impressive," Trev said, "And, as to why I am here- thank you," he said to my mom as she brought him a chair.

"You must be freezing," Mom said. Now that she mentioned it, I noticed that Trev was dripping from head to toe. Even then, he wasn't shivering. But I knew him well enough to know that he must be miserable. _My hell is cold, and it's called the Winter Warfare Course at Bridgeport._

"I am, got any water?" He asked. When she went to go get some, he continued, "The storm knocked out the cell towers, but I was on my way up here anyway. Thank you," he said as he accepted the glass of water from Mom. He pulled out a little green bag and poured half of it in there. He folded the top over and shook it gently. He continued, "The document we found was an encoded document directing a British agent to divide the American forces, specifically that which Left-tenants Jackson and McFielding belonged to."

"That wouldn't end the feud, but it would go a long way to do so," For once, Dad didn't find it funny

"Which means that whoever killed our vic would need a reason to keep the two families fighting," Tony said.

"Have you told Gibbs this?" I asked.

He nodded, and stuffed the green bag under his sweater. Steam began to issue from it. It smelled funny, "Yep. McGee is over at the hotel now. Well, hotel is a bit of a stretch..."

I rolled my eyes, "Enjoy your MRE heater," I said as I got up. I knew too well that this storm would mean that we couldn't go anywhere. The roads were in bad repair as it was, making them treacherous when it was sunny out. In this weather they were impassible.

"I am," Trev vowed, "Dibs on couch."

**Okay, so I am writing this on an iPad (which is awesome, by the way) and the program I am using does not have a spell check option. So, if you find any misspells or other errors and you probably will, point them out to me please.**

**Well, if it does have spell-check, I am not sure where I can find it. I can't believe I miss AutoCorrect.**

**Happy New Years.**

**PFC Sirscreen, of the 1st LAR Bn, HIGHLANDERS!**

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	24. Gettsville, Part 7

**Trev**

My hell is cold, and it goes by the name of Bridgeport, California. Gettsville, Indiana is a close second.

While helping myself to copious amounts of hot tea, courtesy of Mrs Todd, I placed myself as close to the roaring fire as I could. Cell towers werew still down and the storm made it too dangerous to drive on the back country roads. Which means that Caitlin, Tony and me are stranded here until the storm passed. Have I mentioned that I hate Gettsville?

"How often do storms like this happen?" I asked.

"Out of the blue monsoons?" Mr Todd said, "Not uncommon, but not the norm either."

And I thought the weather in Afghanistan was moody. Well, it's more moody than this. But I thought that the place hated me specifically. now I realize it's just weather in general.

I silently cursed Mother Nature, vowed never to recycle again, and break the smog filter on my (okay, maybe my ex's) car, and drank more tea.

Tony came and sat in the chair behind me, "Kate's distracted."

I liked DiNozzo, but I wasn't playing, "Say your piece or go away."

"This morning, we interviewed the County DA," Tony said, "Something felt off."

"She's not a mind reader like you, Tony," I pointed out.

I didn't need to look to see Tony frown. Truth is, his powers of observation surpassed that of almost anyone else I have ever met, even my own. And I came from a world where noticing the slightest hesitation in a smile ment life or death. He was so good, I sometimes thought that he was waisted as an investigator. He could almost literally become someone else, notice the smallest details, and could adapt almost instantly. Which is why I was careful about dealing with him. Infinitely more so than Gibbs and Caitlin. Because I have this sick feeling that if Tony wanted to hurts me, he would be one of the handful of people to be able to get away with it. One of the few people that I would never be able to find.

His only problem was that he lacked confidence in his abilities. Or rather, he didn't know exactly how good he was.

He said, "Not just with him," he said, "With Kate."

"In a town this small, she probably knew him since they were in diapers," I pointed out.

"Not that," he said, "It felt like she believed he was being truthful. For the simple fact that it was him she was talking to."

"You think they were involved with eachother at some point?"

He nodded.

"She knows him," I pointed out, "She trusts him."

"Is that a good thing?" He asked.

"Could be," I said, "If, _if, _he is involved, it could put him at ease. Help us get the drop on him."

"You really think Kate would let us do that?"

"Hell no," I said, "But it has to be done."

"What if he isn't involved?"

"Then we piss her off with nothing to show for it."

"It's a lose-lose," he said,"Either way, she isn't going to be happy."

It's true. If we nail Schtoller to the wall, she will be pissed at both him and us. If he isn't part of it, all of her righteous anger will be directed at us. The only alternative was for him to be involved and get away with it, in which she would feel betrayed solely by him. But I knew better than to suggest this. I felt dirty just thinking about it.

"What's you gut tell you?"

"That this is more than a simple feud," he said, "Even with the drugs, feuds only work with two willing participants."

"Why go all the way to DC to kill a McFielding when there are at least twenty here."

"It means that Martin was targeted."

"Because he had information that could end the feud," I said.

"Which means that we are looking for someone who benefits from the feud."

As soon as he said that, I finally got the full picture of what was bothering him. If you follow that logic, the Todd family stood most to gain with the feud continuing. Without the feud, they would loose stature and their historical high standing in the community. Her former boy-toy built his career on helping contain the feud. Caitlin Todd was about to get stuck in the center of a very big mess.

But I couldn't see where the drugs fit into this. The last thing anyone needs if for a very expensive crop of poppy to be raided by someone who are almost at war with. Yeah, if you sell enough you can arm up to own the town, but it's hard to hide things in the criminal underworld. Someone always knows, and someone always talks. If an enemy found out, they would be liable to attempt to steal or destroy the crop, if only to keep the enemy from arming up.

I didn't mention this to Tony. He probably thought of the drug problem before I had. The twin problems of the drugs and and the feud, it was no wonder that Tony was troubled. If anyone could crack this case, though, it was Tony.

"I'll do it," I volunteered, "I'm leaving soon, anyway."

"You haven't told anyone yet," Tony accused, sounding slightly hurt.

"And you're not surprised."

"You found the recomendation letter for the troubleshooting position," he said, "Good deal."

"Not when you really know what they mean when they say trouble shooting," I said, "I've been a trouble shoter before. It was part of... it was a part of my life that i was glad to have, but don't want a repeat."

"That doesn't really make sense."

"Neither does what you did after Wendy left you," I snapped, immediatly regretting it.

Of course, Tony took it as a clue, "It was a woman, wasn't it? The reason you left spywork."

"I hated spywork," I said, "A kid in his PJs could gather more intel than I could ever dream of collecting from his laptop," predictably, Tony wasn't moved. He just waited, "It was in Spain. I worked as a troubleshooter agent, and when my cover was blown, I had to leave. I had been planning on proposing to her that evening."

"That sucks," Tony observed.

I didn't reply. Because it sucked more than DiNozzo would ever understand.

**Tony**

Sleep is not easy for me.

Family feuds... drugs... underground tunnels... betrayal...

Trev felt betrayed by Gibbs... While I had just figured out what Trev had been hiding, Gibbs must have known... then why recomend him for the troubleshooting position?...

The rift between the two families would take a long while to heal... but the hardest part would be to prove that the origin of the feud was false...

This all started after the terrorist took Ducky and Gerald and Kate hostage... Trev is intimately more familiar with terrorists and the underworld than anyone else I know... Gibbs wants his revenge, and Trev is the best way to get it... but Trev is keeping his identity a secret, _protecting_ him. And the only type of people Trev would ever think to do that is with a teammate...

So this isn't between the two parties... It's between them and someone else... someone taking advantage of this feud to elude us...

Someone with intimate knowledge of the conflict... who knew evey move the other was going to make... someone taking advantage of the distracting fight...

And then, as they say, the peices fall into place.

**This reflects my own thoughts on who is actually the most valuable member of the team. Because it always seemed to me that Tony is always the one to find the piece of evidence that points the team in the right direction.**

**So... any guesses on whodunnit?**

**Remember: Fire without movement is a waste. Movement withought fire is suicide.**

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**PFC Sirscreen, 1st LAR Bn, 1st Marine Division.**


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